A Hero's Journey: The Scarlet Story
by ichiro92
Summary: With nothing left, a desperate human joins the Scarlet Crusade. There, he has to battle against the numerous undead plaguing Lordaeron, and maybe even a few members of his own zealous organization . . . BC/WotLK-era.
1. Prologue: The Interrogation

****Hey there! I've been a fan of the _Warcraft_ series for a long time, and I finally decided to write a story about it. It'll be three acts long, but I should be able to update around twice a week. I'll try and be as faithful to the lore as possible (as I'm quite a lore-junkie myself), but as good storytelling takes precedence, not everything will be completely accurate. Though anything that will be changed will be minor in the grand scheme of things.****

****Anyways, enjoy!****

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><em>Part 1: At the Monastery<em>

Born down in a dead man's town.  
>—Bruce Springsteen<p>

—

**1: Prologue – The Interrogation**

_"The Scourge just think they can walk right into the land that's rightfully ours and take it? While movin' may be fine for some people, I'm not giving up my home without a fight!"_

The door opened, letting an intense flow of light into the darkened room. Danthor Kurock squinted as a figure entered through the door. He felt himself squirm a little in his chair as a female figure sat down on the opposite side of the table in the middle of the cell.

The woman, who had brown hair tied behind her head in a bun, set her shield and axe down beside her. She then looked up at Danthor and asked, "Do you know who I am?"

Danthor grinned a bit. "Everyone knows who you are, High General Brigitte Abbendis."

"Ah," Abbendis said, viewing the surroundings Danthor had been in for the better part of three weeks. It had one window near the roof at the very back, letting only the faintest of light seep inside. Other than that, the table and two chairs were the only items in the room. "Then this should go a little faster. Are our lodgings to your liking?"

Danthor cast a quick glance around the gray-walled room before training his eyes back on the high general. "A bit barren for my taste, but where I'm from it's not too different."

"And where exactly are you from?"

"Tirisfal Glades," replied Danthor. "My family lived in a small house on the outskirts of the Solliden Farmstead."

Abbendis nodded. "Well it's good to know these surroundings aren't too foreign to you. It's unfortunate, but we have to keep all prospective recruits in confinement for a few weeks to make sure there's nothing . . . wrong with you—it's just policy. In a land governed by the trickery of the Scourge and Forsaken, we can never be too safe, can we?"

"To check if I'm undead or been infected by the plague, you mean." Danthor put his hands in front of him. "And what about not restraining a prospective recruit in the presence of one of the Crusade's leaders? Is that not in your policy?"

Abbendis chuckled, grabbing her one-handed axe that glowed fiery red with some type of enchantment. "I didn't become the high general for nothing. Rest assured, boy, I can easily take you if you tried anything."

Danthor ran a hand through his loose, ragged, shoulder-length brown hair. "Fair enough. So may I ask why I'm graced by the presence of such a high-profile figure as yourself?"

"I've been told that you approached our Scarlet outpost at the Farmstead, raving about something before passing out," Abbendis said. "The soldiers on duty took you in and healed you, and when you regained consciousness you demanded to join our ranks. So they shipped you off to Tyr's Hand on one of our cargo runs."

"Sounds about right."

Abbendis stared at Danthor. "Those who live at the Solliden Farmstead grow up to become farmers, not warriors. So why don't you tell me why you want to join our ranks so badly?"

_"Don't worry, Dan, I'll be back before you know it. Until then, I'm counting on you to take care of your ma and sister for me."_

Danthor slumped a bit in his chair. "I grew up in the only untainted part of Tirisfal—aside from Scarlet outposts, of course—so as you can imagine, we were constantly targeted by both the Forsaken and Scourge. Mostly for our plentiful resources. You should know about that. After all, you're supposed to be protecting us from attacks."

"We _do_ protect that land," Abbendis said, narrowing her eyes as if she was the one now put on the spot. "Though I can assure you we've never heard of the Kurock family living there before."

"Like I said, we lived on the farthest of outskirts," Danthor replied, "so it's understandable that we wouldn't fall under your protection. We were the poorest of the poor in terms of farming, but we got by just fine. That was until one day a Scourge attack hit a little bit too close to home, so my father joined up with some of the other men at the farmstead to repel the invasions. I was tasked with protecting the home until he came back."

"And?"

_"Just remember that your Pa loves all of ya, and I'm doin' this for our own good. It'll pay off in the long run—you'll see!"_

"The militia was slaughtered right outta the gate. He never came back."

Abbendis said nothing.

"I was put in charge of our farm in the blink of an eye," Danthor continued, "and I did a pretty good job, all things considered. Then, one evening, from out of nowhere we were attacked. This time by the Forsaken. It was a small contingency force, but I took up my father's sword and shield and tried to fight them off. I was wounded and left to die as the soldiers stormed the house."

Abbendis could see Danthor was fighting back tears with all his might.

"As I heard my mother and sister's screams, I could do nothing but lie on the ground with my face in the dirt. As their voices died down, I could only think of one thing the entire time."

Abbendis raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

Danthor wiped his eyes quickly, dispelling all moistness within them. "I thought of how futile all of this really was. That we could never have lived peacefully in this land, even if we tried our hardest."

Danthor could tell that Abbendis was smiling on the inside. And why wouldn't she? Sounds like she's got prime soldier material right in front of her. At least in spirit, anyway.

"And that's when you approached us, begging to join?"

Danthor nodded.

Abbendis looked behind herself at the closed door, saying, "It's always been Scarlet procedure to have either myself or Grand Inquisitor Isillien visit all prospective recruits at some point during their detention, especially after they've gone through some of our other tests to make sure they're made of the . . . right stuff."

_The torture you've put me through for the past three weeks, right?_ Danthor thought, yet would dare not say in front of the high general.

Abbendis looked down at Danthor's exposed arms and saw several white scars lining them. She bet she'd see even more if he took off his shirt and exposed his back. "You realize it's for your own good, I hope. We have to not only make sure the undead do not infiltrate our ranks, but that our soldiers won't give away any of our secrets to the Scourge if captured."

Danthor managed a weak smile. "Just policy, right?"

The door opened behind Brigitte Abbendis, revealing a priest flanked on both sides by a paladin. All three of them wore the tabard of the Crusade. Danthor looked at Abbendis skeptically, opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then closed it.

"There's just one more test we put our prospective members through if we like what we see," Abbendis said, standing up. "As the only true organization dedicated to completely eradicating the Lich King and his forces for good, we like to pride ourselves as being more in tune with the Holy Light than most."

The priest, who Danthor thought was looking more and more like an inquisitor, stepped past Abbendis while his two paladin guards moved the table that separated him from them.

Abbendis smiled, saying, "In my years of service, I've learned that the Light provides answers to those who listen, yet we also have to be a bit proactive, don't you think? So I tasked our priests and paladins to devise a new way of channeling the Light against the undead."

"The Light helps those who help themselves," Danthor said, frozen in his seat as the two paladins moved to both sides of him. He noticed they were prepared to draw their hammers and crack his skull open with only the slightest provocation.

"Exactly," Abbendis said. "And after months of trial and error, the Light gave us our very first breakthrough. It's not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it serves its purpose, especially when dealing with the Scourge . . . and as an extension, our new recruits."

"I feel honored," Danthor said, putting on the weakest of fronts to try and hide the terror coursing through his veins. He could handle the weeks of daily torture just fine (well, as fine as any common farmhand could), but the fear he felt now dwarfed any feeling he had while being whipped or prodded with a hot poker—it was the unknown that frightened him the most.

Abbendis didn't look amused, yet still said, "As you should be. What we were able to combine were the powers of the Holy Light that priests channel to heal our soldiers, with the power our paladins use to inflict damage upon the Scourge. The result is deadly for the undead, yet nonlethal against humans. But needless to say, it's a bit more of a . . . potent feeling in comparison to just being healed."

Danthor looked at the door, saw it was open, and had the sudden urge to bolt from his chair and escape, maybe taking one of the paladin's hammers they had strapped to their backs to protect himself while he was at it. It would be the work of but a second, and all he had to do was move . . .

He started to get out of his seat, but felt the weight of both paladins pulling him down and securing him. They were too fast for Danthor, it seemed. Still, he struggled against their strength as the priest

_(inquisitor)_

moved closer and closer to him. He yelled, "Let me go! You've already seen that I'm not a part of the Scourge or Forsaken! I've told you why I'm here and you've been watching me for three weeks! There's no need for this! Do you hear me? By all that is holy, _let me go!_"

"We have to be sure," Abbendis said. "Those of the undead have been getting trickier and trickier with their tactics, and we can afford to have no cracks in the armor. Have faith in the Light, and all will turn out right."

The priest was right in front of the struggling Danthor now, and he removed the white glove on his right hand. He held it in front of the prospective recruit as it glowed yellow with the Light flowing through it. Slowly, he reached and put his hand on Danthor's forehead.

"No! You don't need to do this! I'm fine, I swear to you! The plague of undeath has never been near—"

The spell was both blinding and brilliant—both painful and enlightening. To Danthor, it felt like having electricity flowing throughout his entire body in a fraction of a second. His eyes rolled back into his head as he gave spastic jerks, yet as the magic coursed through his body his mind gave sight to several things at once. The ruins of Lordaeron, necromancers brewing the plague in their cauldrons, countless undead rising from the grave, Sylvanas the Banshee Queen plotting in the Undercity, the Lich King teaching the next generation of death knights, and the last thing he saw was the red and white banner of the Crusade—the last bastion of hope for humanity.

Danthor toppled over in his chair and landed face-first on the ground in front of Abbendis. Spit flowed freely from his mouth as his limbs gave off little twitches. Slowly, he regained his eyesight, enough to see the feet of the priest and paladins going towards the door while Abbendis picked up her shield and axe before moving closer towards him.

She kneeled down in front of the farmer and said, "You know you're never allowed to speak to anyone about what went on in this room for the past three weeks, right?"

Her voice sounded distant, foreign. Still, Danthor said slowly, "Doesn't matter . . . you'd kill me if I did . . . and you'll kill me if I'm not worthy of joining . . . seen too much . . ."

"That's right," Abbendis said. She cracked a malicious smile. "It's just policy." She stood up and walked towards the door, saying, "The good news is that you've been deemed worthy to join our ranks. You'll be shipped off to the Scarlet Monastery first thing in the morning. I think we can't expect much more out of you than a warrior, but that's fine. The Light finds purpose for all who wish to serve it."

She stopped at the door where both the paladins and priest were waiting for her.

High General Abbendis looked down at Danthor and said, "Oh, and welcome to the Scarlet Crusade."

She left, closing the door to leave the semi-conscious Danthor in darkness. His mind seemed to float to a hundred different things at once, yet seemed to be focused on absolutely nothing at the same time. Slowly but surely, he started to slip away from reality, and before he knew it, he was out cold.

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><p><em>A successful initiation . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	2. Memories in the Past

Through his memories, we see . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>2: Memories in the Past<span>**

_"Ma, Kayla, I'm home," Danthor announced, opening the door to their little cottage and stepping inside. _

_He looked around and saw no one in the living room. Shrugging to himself, Danthor closed the door behind him and moved further in. He produced a handkerchief from the back of his pants pocket and wiped his dirt-covered face. Danthor was in his early twenties, but every evening he stepped into his house after working, he looked at least twice the age._

_"Hello?" he said, walking into the kitchen. "Ma, Kayla, you guys—"_

_"Shh!"_

_Danthor looked to his right to see his teenaged sister sitting at the kitchen table, reading a rather large tome by candlelight. Danthor grinned at this sight and ventured closer to the table, peeking over at the book._

_"Hey there, sis. Whatcha reading to—"_

_Kayla Kurock slammed the book shut and looked up at her brother. "How much do you know about the history of Gilneas?"_

_"Oh, you mean those shut-ins who walled themselves off from the rest of the world because they didn't like what was going on around them?" Danthor asked with a sly smirk. "All I know is that they're snobbish and rude."_

_"They are not!" Kayla said, outraged. "They're a refined and intelligent people who had the common sense to not involve themselves in conflicts that would end their kingdom. Besides, there's much more to them than that wall, and I intend to find out what it is one day!"_

_"Yeah, yeah, I know," Danthor said, dropping in an open seat at the table with an audible sigh of relief. "You'll be the first person to get inside the city since Greymane Wall was put up. You should try living in the day-to-day a bit more."_

_Kayla made a mocking face at Danthor. "There's no reason to hate me just because I'm thinking in the long-term. You should take a page from my book and start planning ahead. Then again, I was the child blessed with intelligence, so I guess I'm asking too much of a simple farmer."_

_There was silence for a second, then both Danthor and Kayla burst out laughing at the same time. When it died down, Danthor asked, "So where's Ma?"_

_"Out back," Kayla answered. "She's making dinner. By the looks of you I bet you can eat the whole meal by yourself."_

_Danthor shrugged, then leaned back a little deeper in his chair. He gave Kayla a sly grin and said, "Maybe, maybe not. If I were you, though, I'd watch my plate when I'm nearby."_

_"As if a simpleton such as yourself could devise a plan to steal my food without detection," Kayla shot back almost immediately._

_Another fresh bout of laughter erupted from the two. The door from the kitchen opened amidst this, and Marsha Kurock stepped with a bucket of water. "If you laughed any louder our neighbors would think we've all gone mad!"_

_"What neighbors?" Danthor asked, turning around to look at his mother as she placed the bucket of water on the kitchen counter. "There's no one around us, and even if they could hear, who cares what the Germaines or Warrens think of us?"_

_Marsha just shook her head, then inspected Danthor from head to toe. "Hard day, I take it?"_

_"You always had a knack for picking up on subtle clues, Ma," Danthor said, slumping a bit further into his chair._

_He was promptly smacked in the back of his head with a dishcloth. "I certainly didn't raise my children to be sarcastic," she said. She gave Danthor an overly-wicked smile. "I _did_ teach them, however, to go and get washed up before they start lounging at the dinner table."_

_"Alright," Danthor said with an audible sigh, getting up from his seat and moving towards the door leading to the back. "I get it, I get it."_

_"And come back inside with a new attitude," Marsha said with the same wickedly-joyful grin, hitting Danthor once more with the dishcloth for good measure._

_When he closed the door behind him, Kayla looked up at her mother and showed her hands, saying, "I'm all washed up, Ma, look."_

_"You are," Marsha said, setting her sights on Kayla, "but you have a nasty habit of leaving your books scattered all around the kitchen table." She motioned to the clutter of books around where Kayla was sitting. "So unless you want to suffer the same fate as your brother, I suggest you take all those books back up to your room!"_

_Marsha raised up her dishcloth threateningly, prompting Kayla to shoot herself up from her chair and frantically start collecting her books._

— — —

_The Kurock family didn't have running water going through their house, so they had to get all of it from a water pump in the back. As the sun was beginning to set, Danthor stood at the pump and began washing his hands with the water. When his hands were clean, he closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with his wet hands to get the grime off of it._

_It was the rustling sound that caused his eyes to shoot open. He stood there for a second, washing off his now-dirtied hands, straining to see if he could hear anything else. The rustling sound came again, and Danthor was able to pinpoint where the sound came from. Looking to his left he saw movement through the bushes just past the boundaries of his house._

_Squinting, Danthor only caught one good glimpse of what was moving, and it was enough to make his blood run cold. Without a doubt he caught a glimpse of a group of undead making their way around his home. What was even worse was that they looked armored. Not your garden-variety mindless Scourge, that's for sure._

_Not wasting any time, Danthor ran back into the kitchen to find his mother preparing their meal. He burst in with such suddenness that it caused Marsha to look up and ask, "Dan, what's wrong?"_

_Danthor scanned the room and found no sign of his sister. "Where's Kayla?"_

_"She's putting her books back in her room," Marsha replied. "What's going on?"_

_"Run upstairs and find her. Lock yourself in your room as soon as you have her."_

_Marsha's eyes widened. "Is it another attack?"_

_"I fear so. Now go!"_

_Marsha, all too familiar with how dangerous these attacks could be (the attack that prompted her husband to join up with the militia was particularly clear in her mind), didn't hesitate and went past Danthor and up the stairs._

"I'm counting on you to take care of your ma and sister for me,"_ his father's voice said in Danthor's mind as he moved towards the front door and grabbed his father's sword and wooden shield._

_He took a quick second to inspect what he had to defend himself. The blade was rusting and looked blunt, while the shield had cracks running down it from previous uses. _Gotta go with what you have,_ Danthor thought, opening the door open a crack to see outside._

_With a single glance his worst fears were confirmed. Standing out in front of the house were around five undead. They all wore tabards showing their affiliation with the Forsaken, and they all stood in a straight line at attention while one of them (presumably the commanding officer) had his back turned to Danthor and talking to his men._

_He strained his ears, but could only pick up faint traces of Gutterspeak coming from the leader. _

("what neighbors?" Danthor asked, turning around to look at his mother as she placed the bucket of water on the kitchen counter. "there's no one around us . . .")

_If only there were people around to see that they needed help. Well, it is what it is, and Danthor knew the defense all fell down to him. Drawing in a shaky breath, he opened the door and boldly stepped out, catching the attention of the entire force._

_"What are you doing in front of my house?" he asked in a booming voice. _

_The leader turned around and looked at Danthor with his yellow eyes. His head was bald, save for the one patch of hair on the back of his head fashioned into a ponytail, while his cheeks were hollowed and rotting. He had a sword strapped to one hip with a dagger strapped to the other. _

_"You're the owner of this land then, I assume," he said, speaking in Common. Danthor had no doubt that if his lips hadn't rotted away, he would be smiling. "We come as emissaries of the Dark Lady and wish to let you know that this land is being retaken by the Forsaken to further our war against the Scourge and Crusade."_

_Danthor grimaced. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that. This is my home, and I would appreciate it if you got off of my property."_

_There was some speaking from the leader in Gutterspeak, then he spoke to Danthor in Common. "Impossible, you see. Our Lady's word is law, and we can't return empty handed. So sorry, but your home is now property of the Forsaken!"_

_He spoke something to the four men behind him, and immediately they raised their crossbows and fired towards Danthor. He was able to duck in time, letting the arrows hit the house harmlessly._

_"Stop!" the human yelled, standing up and charging towards them._

_The leader drew his two weapons and rushed towards him. With a cry of battle, Danthor raised his sword and brought it down, only to have it parried by the leader's blade. With a roar of glee, he used the dagger in his other hand to thrust towards his enemy. Danthor moved fast to raised up his wooden shield, blocking the dagger and actually burying it slightly into the frame. _

_The leader hissed as he pried his dagger free. It was at that point that Danthor noticed both his weapons were coated in a glistening poison. Before he could do anything else, the leader knocked Danthor's sword aside and booted him in his exposed chest. Danthor hit the floor with a thud._

_The leader motioned for the men to move past him towards the house. "No! Don't!" pleaded Danthor as the four undead moved past him. _

_He quickly leapt up and moved towards one of the Forsaken, but was intercepted by the leader, who raised brought his dagger down towards Danthor. Luckily, he brought his shield up in time to let it harmlessly clatter off. That didn't stop the leader from swinging the sword in his free hand down._

_The blow struck Danthor diagonally across his entire chest, causing blood to spurt out almost immediately. He coughed a little and staggered forward slightly before falling face-first onto the ground. The leader let out a baleful laugh and started moving slowly forward._

_"The poison on my weapons are slow-acting," he said. "It'll eat up your senses bit by bit, but not before we burn this house to the ground—it's only the land we care about, you know."_

_Danthor tried to say something, but could only open his mouth and utter a small sound. His body was starting to grow tingly. _

_The leader let out another laugh and said, "My name's Garomaw Grimhand, by the way, and it was a pleasure meeting you, human."_

_Danthor could hear the sound of glass shattering and the thud of the wooden door being kicked in. These sounds persisted for a while, and all the time Danthor was thinking, _Get up, dammit! This is your home—your family! You can't fail in the duties Pa has given to you! Get the hell up!

_His body wouldn't listen or react to anything he tried. It was like his mind was departed from his body and watching it from far away. Then, the sounds of screams rose from the house. It was followed by something being yelled in Gutterspeak, but the screaming continued for a good minute afterwards._

No, no, no, no! Please, by the Light, just let them be safe! _Then, as the poison moved deeper into his system, his distant mind thought aimlessly, _Doesn't matter . . . we couldn't have been happy, even if we tried our best . . .

_He knew not how much time had passed once the screaming stopped. To Danthor, it was like the world itself had ceased its turning, and he only remembered patches of gray and black. All he knew was that once he was able to gain control of his body and force himself up, the Forsaken were gone and his house was burned to the ground._

_The image was stunning, and at first he didn't want to believe it. Then, despite his wobbliness, he forced his body to run towards the house as fast as he could, yelling, "Kayla, Ma, can you hear me?"_

_He collided with a partially standing wall at the front of the smoldering wreckage, and quickly moved inside, kicking aside blackened furniture and yelling his mother and sister's name over and over. Running up the stairs, he found them both in Marsha's room. He doubled over upon seeing them and threw up. His knees were buckling so badly that he dropped onto them. He saw blood in his vomit, and touched his chest wound, finding that even though the bleeding had stopped, it was clearly not getting any better._

_Still, he pressed onwards, despite the tingling sensation in his body continuing and his movements getting slower and slower. He picked up both of their bodies and stumbled into the backyard, where the water pump was still standing, untouched. _

_Danthor carefully laid them down and then pumped some water into his hands attempting to wash his bloodied chest with it, but it didn't do any good. Letting out an unstable breath, he threw water into his face, as if trying to wake up from a bad dream. Another shot of pain rang through his body, bringing Danthor back down to his knees. And it was there that even the water on his face couldn't hide the tears he was shedding as he whispered, "Kayla . . . Ma, I'm so sorry."_

_He dug their graves there in the backyard. It was long, painful work, as his body kept getting weaker and weaker. Still, he was able to finish the job, gently laying his mother and sister down into their eternal resting places. He didn't have any markers, but he thought the water pump—standing defiantly despite the wreckage around it—was enough. _

_When the work was done, he coughed and inspected his hand. There was blood on it. Feeling incredibly weak, he once again dropped onto his knees. He was going to die, he just knew it. After all, it was what he deserved for being unable to protect his mother and Kayla. Just thinking of them brought a fresh bout of tears flowing from his eyes, as he slumped to the ground, slamming his fist onto the dirt._

_When he cried all that he could, Danthor looked up towards the sky and saw a tower in the distance. On top of the tower, a large banner stood defiantly against the undead. It was the banner of the Scarlet Crusade. Regaining his composure, Danthor left the smoking wreck of what he once called home and moved towards that tower._

_Against all odds, he was able to make it; bloodied and shaking, but he made it and was alive. He could only let out a few words of his intention to join the Crusade to before collapsing right in front of the two crusaders standing guard. One of them kneeled down and began shaking him._

_"Hey, are you_

— — —

alright?"

Danthor jerked back into reality and looked at the man to his right who was shaking him. He was put on a cargo run from Tyr's Hand to the Scarlet Monastery (stopping at Hearthglen first to pick up more recruits), where he would officially begin his training. With him were about thirty other recruits, all who no doubt went through the same "screening process" as himself.

He looked to the recruit at his right, the one who shook him awake. He looked at Danthor quizzically and asked, "You alright there? You've been zoned out the entire trip."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Danthor said, readjusting his sitting position. "I was just thinking, that's all."

"Ah," the man said, leaning back and looking up towards the sky. "There's nothing wrong with that. You just had this look on your face where it seemed like you were in deep concentration. Were you thinking about anything in particular?"

Danthor shook his head, saying, "Just memories, that's all."

The man let out a little whistle. "Everyone here's got those—usually ones that aren't too pleasant. It's what brings us all to the Crusade, I suppose." He turned towards Danthor and held out his hand. "The name's Jonas Merrigan."

Danthor shook his hand. He remembered him boarding when the group stopped at Hearthglen—another Scarlet stronghold—in theWestern Plaguelands. The man looked to be in his late twenties, well-built, and had straight, chin-length black hair complimented by a moustache and small beard on his chin.

"Danthor Kurock. Nice to meet you."

"And you as well," Jonas said. He looked back towards the front and said, "Well it looks like your daydreamin' got you throughout this long and depressing trip. The monastery's right up ahead."

Danthor looked ahead and could see the outline of the Scarlet Monastery, right at the border of Tirisfal Glades.

It was there, Danthor knew, that his destiny awaited him.

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><p><em>So it begins.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	3. Welcoming Party

Danthor's first glimpse at the monastery. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>3: Welcoming Party<span>**

The convoy stopped at the fork in the road that led up to the monastery.

"Alright, everyone off," the driver said. "Just follow the path at the right straight up and you'll get there—there's a welcome party waiting for ya. I've got supplies to deliver, so this is where our path ends. Good luck, recruits. You're gonna need it."

The driver chuckled to himself as the convoy took the left path and disappeared. Jonas looked at Danthor and said, "Quite a cheerful fellow, eh?"

"I'm just surprised we got all the way here without any attacks," Danthor said. "Though I suppose you can't blame him for being a little cynical—he's probably delivered thousand of recruits to these gates."

The Scarlet recruits (numbering about thirty in all) began making their way up the path on the right. Jonas jerked his thumb in their direction and asked, "Shall we get going, then?"

Danthor nodded and they proceeded to the back of the pack. When they reached the top of the hill, the first thing Danthor noticed were the corpses hanging in the trees, rotting. The second thing he noticed was the large gathering of troops at the very entrance of the monastery. At the front of the gathering was a black, bald man with a claymore strapped to his back. As the recruits stopped a bit short of the rather large block of troops, he eyed them and began to speak.

"My name's Captain Melrache," he said. "We were told that at least a score of recruits would be coming to the monastery today for training to become proper warriors of the Light. However, before we can send you for evaluation, we need you to line up single-file and tell us your full name so we can write it on the roster at this table. Then, you will be led into the cathedral where you will be greeted by the Scarlet commander himself. Do you understand?"

The recruits responded with a resounding, "Yes, sir!"

Doing as they were told, Jonas and Danthor were near the very back of the line. While they were waiting, Jonas (who was right in front of Danthor), asked, "So what's your story, friend?"

"I was a farmer in Tirisfal," Danthor replied quickly. "My entire family was killed, and so here I am."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

Wanting to change the subject, Danthor replied with, "Thanks. What about you?"

Jonas paused for a second, then finally said, "I was once a paladin of the Church of Holy Light. I was sent to the Plaguelands to help the Argent Dawn with the threat of the Scourge, but was ultimately stripped of my position due to one out-of-hand incident. I was excommunicated, yet I still wanted to continue battling the undead, so I ended up here."

"I see," Danthor said. "I could never understand how one could even become a paladin—I've not talent for channeling the Light myself."

Jonas grinned. "It's not that hard once you get the hang of it! You just have to find your center, and after that a whole new world opens up to you. I'd show ya some, but I lost most of my powers when I was banished, save for the ability to heal.

Danthor raised an eyebrow at this. "So you haven't lost _all_ your powers then?"

"The Light never completely abandons those who are just and pure, even if certain circumstances cast them in an unfavorable position," replied Jonas. "I'm hoping to regain my powers to serve the Light by training here, but for now I'm more of the warrior-type with minor healing capabilities."

"I can relate more to that," Danthor said. "I'm just a farmer now, but my hope is to be trained in the art of battle and fight off the undead with my sword and shield."

"Admirable. I hope you're up to the task."

"And you as well."

The line was moving along smoothly now, and it eventually reached Jonas.

"Next!" Melrache said, prompting Jonas to move to the table.

"What's your name?" Melrache asked.

"Jonas Merrigan."

"What was your previous trade?"

"I was a paladin, sir."

Melrache looked up. "A paladin, huh? We don't get many of those around. What happened to bring you here?"

"I was excommunicated, sir."

The Scarlet captain let out a wolfish grin. "Well you should fit right in here. Follow the line to enter the cathedral. It's the second entrance from the left. Next!"

Danthor moved up as Jonas disappeared into the Scarlet Monastery.

"Name?"

"Danthor Kurock."

"What was your previous trade?"

"A farmer, sir."

Melrache didn't look up. "Follow the line to the cathedral. It's the second entrance from the left in the Grand Vestibule. Next!"

Danthor quickly moved along, catching up to Jonas in the large stone chamber known as the Grand Vestibule (which housed the doorways to all four wings of the monastery). "Well that wasn't too bad, was it?" he asked.

"It wasn't for you," Danthor told his friend. "I'm sure they couldn't care less about the penniless farmer who joined to survive. Now a _paladin_? That's a treasure being found in a large pile of trash."

Jonas couldn't help but laugh at the analogy. He put his hand on Danthor's shoulder and said, "Don't be too hard on yourself. All this means is that you just need to prove how much value you'll be. It's not too bad being the underdog, right?"

"I suppose not," Danthor said as they made their way through the second door on the left into the cathedral wing.

The two of them walked down a long hall that was line with soldiers—some were mages, some warriors—all wearing the tabard of the Crusade proudly. They stood at full attention, simply looking straight forward as the recruits passed by.

"A pretty disciplined bunch, by the look of it," Jonas whispered as they passed by.

Danthor nodded.

They hung a right to exit the hall and enter the ChapelGardens. The first thing that struck the two was how beautiful it was. The grass was green and the water flowing from the fountain like a waterfall into the pool in front of them was sparkling blue. For Danthor, what struck him was how . . . _alive_ everything was. For someone who'd spent his entire life in the withering forests of Tirisfal, it was certainly a welcome sight.

They made their way up the staircase to the upper-level, where the recruits were filing into the enormous cathedral looming in front of them. Danthor took notice that at both sides of the gardens, Scarlet soldiers were standing in the same disciplined form. At the cathedral door (which was massive), four Scarlet centurions stood on both sides, as if signposts to lead the recruits into the cathedral.

The cathedral itself was truly a masterful feat of architecture. It had high ceilings held up by large circular pillars on both sides—eight in all—which itself acted as a framing device for the long processional (covered in red carpeting) that led all the way up to the altar. On both sides of the altar were two extra wings which housed a few rooms for meditation.

On both sides of the cathedral hall (which was somewhat shadowed as they lay behind the pillars), Scarlet champions, abbots, monks, and chaplains lined the wall in perfect order. The recruits themselves were being led down the main processional, only to be stopped right at the stairway that led up to the altar.

There, standing at the top of the stairs and in front of the altar, was none other than Scarlet Commander Mograine, leader of the Crusade's forces at the monastery. The commander himself was a rather large, imposing figure with shoulder-length, light-orange hair held up by a red headband, a moustache-beard combination not too different from Jonas's, heavy red chainmail (which was covered by his own Scarlet tabard, his bearing a gold trim and red stripe running vertically down the middle through the crimson flame—apparently a sign of rank in the Crusade, as all the leaders wore one) with large red pauldrons, and a fearsome mace strapped onto his back.

Mograine inspected the group of recruits in front of him as if he was appraising the price of cattle or crops. When the entire group was inside the cathedral (actually called the Crusader's Chapel) and crowded into the processional, Mograine spoke to them:

"Hello recruits, my name is Renault Mograine, and I'm the commander of all the Scarlet Crusade's forces here at the monastery," he said in a voice that echoed throughout the cathedral's hall.

"That's not quite true," Jonas whispered to Danthor. "He may be the official leader here, but rumor has it that he's being controlled by someone named High Inquisitor Whitemane."

"First, let me start by congratulating all of you on making it this far," Mograine continued. "If you're standing here before me, that means you were all judged worthy by the higher-ups to join the Scarlet Crusade. I should make it clear that the monastery itself will most likely not be your final destination. You are all here to be trained by me and the other leaders here until you are able to do combat with the undead. After that, some of you will stay behind here to help protect the monastery, but most of you will be shipped off to where the Crusade needs the most help."

The recruits were deathly silent, as if just realizing the real weight of joining the Crusade's ranks.

Mograine motioned to the soldiers on both sides of the recruits. "When your training is complete here, you will be like most of these men and women you see before you—completely disciplined and battle-hardened. Make no mistake, this will not be easy, and some of you won't live to make it through the entire training process, but for those of you that do, you will be able to do battle with anything the Scourge and Forsaken will throw at you."

It was then Danthor noticed the large double-doors just behind the altar. He wondered what was in that room exactly.

"I, for one, am proud of the work we do here for the Crusade, and I think that after you've all met your other teachers—Herod, Doan, Whitemane—you'd find that they agree to that as well. With that being said, we have to start off by determining what your skills will best suit you to. So in order to find that out, you will all be escorted to the armory, where Herod the Scarlet Champion will fill you in on further details. I wish you all good luck, and look forward to seeing you again soon!"

At this, the recruits burst into applause and cheer. _That Mograine certainly knows how to stir a crowd,_ Danthor thought, as they were all being led back out to the gardens.

"Hey, Jonas," he asked as they were walking down the stairs to the lower-level.

"Hmm? What's up?"

"Do you have any idea what was in that room behind Mograine?"

Jonas suddenly burst out laughing, and had to quickly cover his mouth so as not to attract any unnecessary attention to himself. "Sorry, sorry, it's just that everyone knows that that room is where High Inquisitor Whitemane likes to spend most of her time, mostly praying to the Light and whatever it is inquisitors do."

"She's the one thought to be the real leader here?" Danthor asked.

"Yeah," replied Jonas. "What I'd be more concerned with, though, is the rumor of a secret room in the cathedral that supposedly houses High Inquisitor Fairbanks."

"Fairbanks?"

Jonas shook his head and sighed. "You know, for someone about to join the Scarlet Crusade, you certainly don't know a lot about the personal advisor to Highlord Mograine."

"You mean Scarlet Commander Mograine?" asked a slightly-confused Danthor.

Jonas waved his hand in front of him, as if to knock away that question. "No, no, Renault Mograine is Alexandros Mograine's son. Alexandros was a member of the Knights of the Silver Hand—an order of paladins—but was most well known by his feats against the undead with his weapon, the Ashbringer."

"I've heard legends of the Ashbringer," Danthor said. "It was known as the weapon that could obliterate all undead in its path, leaving only ashes to remain. It's been told that even the Lich King himself fears that holy weapon."

"Correct," Jonas said as they were nearing the hallway to leave the cathedral area. "Unfortunately, Highlord Mograine was murdered and the Ashbringer lost forever—killed in the same attack that supposedly killed Fairbanks, but I've been told that he's somewhere in that cathedral back there. Point is, don't worry about stuff like that. Just focus on what's going to happen next in the armory. Besides, it's not like the politics of the Crusade matter to small fry like us anyway."

"I guess . . ."

Danthor took one last glance back at the Crusader's Chapel. It was the first time he noticed the three serrated spires placed at the roof of the cathedral, giving it a rather menacing look. Internally, he wondered how Alexandros Mograine was killed and where the Ashbringer now lay. Then, he and Jonas took a left from the gardens into the hallway, and his view of the cathedral was lost.

— — —

Of the three major wings within the Scarlet Monastery, the armory was probably the only one Danthor had ever heard about. When he was younger, he would sometimes go near the Scarlet outpost—the base in charge of protecting the Solliden Farmstead—to see if he could get a closer look at some of the warriors against the undead.

It was a well-known fact in Tirisfal to keep as much distance from the crusaders as possible, as it was unknown how they would react to anyone who came near then. Danthor usually adhered to this warning, but one day he ventured dangerously close to the outpost. So close, in fact, that he overheard a few soldiers, fresh from the monastery (as the relatively new soldiers were often sent to protect the farmstead), reminisce about their training.

The soldiers he overheard weren't much with the ways of magic or the Light, so they were sent to the armory to be taught under the Scarlet Champion in the ways of close-combat fighting with the undead. He heard from them that Herod was not one to go easy on soldiers when he was teaching them, and that the armory was the toughest place to be assigned to in the whole of the monastery.

And now, several years later, here Danthor Kurock was, entering the Scarlet Armory with the rest of the recruits to discover what they should focus on during their training—be it magic, the Light, or just plain combat.

They exited the rather short hall and entered what was known as the Training Grounds, a square courtyard that was bordered on all sides with a walkway made out of stone. At the sides of the untouched piece of earth were several training dummies and weapons. At the center of the field was Herod himself, the Scarlet Champion and leader of the forces in the armory wing.

Herod was a very tall and imposing figure. He wore red chainmail pants, boots, and gloves, yet wore nothing to protect his chest, showing off his muscular form. He had a rather fearsome-looking axe strapped to his back despite this, however. Planted on top of his head was a red helmet that covered his entire face, save for his eyes, with two horns protruding from the sides. The strangest thing about his appearance, though (and to Danthor, that was saying a lot), was that he had a massive red pauldron planted on his right shoulder with three white horns (matching the ones on his helmet) sticking out of them.

"So you're the new recruits I've been hearing so much about, eh?" he asked with a slight scoff. "Well my name's Herod, and I've been put in charge of the first stage of your training."

His voice was booming and powerful. There was no doubt in everyone's mind that this man was indeed the Scarlet champion.

"Now the first thing you may have noticed about the Crusade is that we're a rather varied bunch," Herod continued. "We have warriors, priests, paladins, hunters, mages, you name it. The problem is that not everyone knows what type of category they fall under. Some may think they're good at one thing, but then realize they're good at something else entirely. Well the first part of your training will be to discover what you're naturally best at, so we can hone and train your skills appropriately. And we're going to find that out right now."

"How?" asked an incredibly brave recruit.

Herod motioned to the square patch of land separating him and the recruits. Danthor thought that if he could see his face underneath his helmet, he would be smiling right now.

"Why, the only way we can really find out. We're going to divide you up and have you fight one-on-one in this arena!"

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><p><em>An unusual testing method . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	4. The Placement Test

A brutal test to gauge their strength! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>4: The Placement Test<span>**

"We'll be fighting against each other in one-on-one combat?" a few of the recruits asked out loud.

"That's right," Herod said. He pointed to the large piles of weapons in the courtyard. "As you can see, we have every type of weapon you need right here. You can pick whatever you like and do battle with it. The fight will continue until I say it's over. I would like to highlight that the point here is to show off all of your skills so we can give you the most accurate evaluation."

"Are we fighting to kill?" one of the recruits asked.

Herod gave a small chuckle under his red helmet. "That's not the goal, but if it comes to that and I haven't stopped the fight yet, then you have permission to kill your opponent. Does everyone understand?"

About half the group was silent, while the other half gave a hearty cheer. Danthor and Jonas were among the silent half.

"Good," Herod said, looking at the roster given to him by Captain Melrache. "Then spread yourself around the outer-rim to keep the fighting ring clear."

The group dispersed itself all around the square fighting ground as the first two names were called up. As they were taking their time to choose their weapons, Jonas nudged Danthor on the side to get his attention. Jonas motioned towards the giant pile of weapons on both sides of the grounds and asked, "So what are you gonna go for?"

Danthor shrugged. "Probably a shield and sword. I was told by Abbendis herself that I'd be nothing more than a warrior, so why should I try and—"

He immediately cut himself off, realizing he was starting to speak about his confinement and subsequent meeting with the high general. Jonas realized this immediately and put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a slightly-rough shake.

"Relax," he said. "I know we were told not to talk about our . . . prerequisite to get here, but everyone you see right now had to go through the same thing. There's no reason to feel so anxious about simply mentioning it." Jonas then lowered his voice. "So which one came to visit you, Abbendis or Isillien?"

"Abbendis," Danthor whispered back.

Jonas let out a slight whistle. "At least you had someone nice to look at. I got stuck with Isillien myself, and let me tell you, there's a reason he's called the Grand Inquisitor."

"I bet," Danthor said, not entirely comfortable with what they were talking about. "So what weapon would you pick?"

"Gotta go with the mace, myself," Jonas said. "A paladin's usual weapon of choice when fighting. If you know what you're doin', you can finish your opponent in one blow."

They left the conversation at that, and were silent the remainder of the time, content with watching the recruits battle it out, and Herod calling when to let the battle end. So far, there had been no deaths, with the champion intervening far before it ever got to that. After a battle was finished, he would call the two fighters up and talk to them for a brief while before sending them back to watch.

Eventually, Herod looked at the roster and said, "Jonas Merrigan and Balean Orthel, step forward!"

"Looks like I'm up," Jonas said, slipping Danthor a mischievous wink. "Wish me luck."

"I'm sure you won't need it."

Jonas grinned and leapt over the small stone wall separating the field from the spectators. On the other side of the training grounds, his opponent stepped forward. He was of average height with tanned skin and short blonde hair, parted down the middle to keep his bangs off of his forehead. He was dressed very much like a tracker, with leather boots, pants, and jerkin. As he was searching for his weapon, it wasn't so much the man himself everyone was looking at, but the lean-looking, brown-furred dog that was at his side the entire time.

Jonas ended up picking a two-handed mace with blunt steel edges protruding from it, while the other man (named Balean, apparently), picked up a crossbow. The two then just stared at each other, while the dog was beginning to growl and bark at Jonas.

"You might wanna get your pet out of the way before we start," Jonas said. "He might get hurt."

Balean uttered a short laugh and said, "Please, Kojak and I fight as a team. I would never do something as stupid as sending him away."

Jonas looked at Herod and asked, "Do pets count as weapons?"

Herod shrugged. "Sure, it's been done before. If he wants to fight with his animal, then he can fight. Now state your names and any previous affiliation for the record."

"Jonas Merrigan, former paladin of the Church of the Holy Light."

"Balean Orthel, hunter and tracker of the Alterac Mountains."

"Good, now begin!" Herod yelled.

"Go Kojak!" Balean yelled. "Sic 'im!"

The dog named Kojak barked and rushed towards Jonas. He raised his mace and said, "Don't say I didn't warn you . . ."

When he was close enough, Kojak leapt up towards Jonas with his jaws wide open, snarling. Just as he was in range, Jonas swung his mace and hit Kojak right in his side, causing him to cry out in pain and land on his side a few feet away from him.

Jonas took a second to look at the dog, then turned back to Balean and said, "See, I toldja that—"

He was cut off as an arrow thudded itself into Jonas's left shoulder. He grunted in pain, but held his ground, looking straight at Balean who was loading up his crossbow with another shot. Not going to give him the satisfaction, Jonas gave out a bellowing cry and rushed towards Balean with his mace at the ready. The hunter looked surprised at this turn of events and could barely duck in time as his mace came swinging at him.

Unfortunately for Balean, that left him open, and Jonas gave him a swift kick to his ribs, winding him and knocking him over. This gave Jonas a second chance as he raised his mace high and attempted to bring it down on the fallen Balean. His reflexes were too quick, though, and he rolled out of the way, allowing Jonas's mace to just hit the grass beneath him. Thinking quickly, Balean swung his leg out and swept Jonas's legs out from under him, knocking him straight on his back.

Both fighters took this short lull to recover themselves, with Jonas getting back up and Balean trying to get some distance from the ferocious paladin, Kojak quickly joining his side, not looking injured in the slightest.

"Not bad for someone who uses his dog as a distraction," Jonas said.

Balean grinned wolfishly. "Don't worry about old Kojak here. He's taken a blow from an Arathi ogre once and came out unscathed. I'd be more concerned about your shoulder wound."

"Oh, you mean this?" Jonas asked, gripping the protruding arrow shaft. Without another word, he yanked the arrow right out of his shoulder in one clean movement, causing a few recruits in the audience to let out a surprised gasp. He held the bloodied arrow in front of Balean for a second before dropping it on the ground in front of him. "Don't worry, it didn't hurt a bit. We paladins are known for having tougher armor and skin than most. Let's just say it's a natural aura around us."

"Your bleeding wound speaks differently, my friend," Balean said.

Jonas held up his right hand as it started to glow yellow. Channeling the power of the holy light, he put his hand over his shoulder wound and began to heal it. Before anyone knew it, the wound was closed up completely and he was uninjured yet again. He looked at Balean and smiled. "What were you saying, friend?"

Balean suddenly let out a large amount of joyous laughter, causing confusion amongst everyone watching.

This prompted Jonas to ask: "What's so funny?"

Balean quickly composed himself, and knelt by Kojak's side, giving him an affectionate pat where he was struck by Jonas's mace. "Sorry, it's just that I haven't had an interesting fight in a long time, and I'm just so _happy_ about fighting someone as strong as you."

Balean's smile turned out to be infectious, as Jonas also began to laugh. "Well, when you put it like that, it does seem like fun. Shall we continue, then?"

Balean readied his crossbow, saying, "Of course. At your move, my friend."

Jonas was about to rush forward when he heard Herod's bellowing voice. "Stop!"

The two fighters looked at the champion quizzically. Apparently, he had seen enough. He motioned for the two of them (three if you count Kojak) to step forward. After having a brief conversation with them, Herod wrote something on the roster and released both Balean and Jonas, who quickly walked back to where Danthor was, talking and laughing the entire time.

Danthor couldn't help but smile at their light-hearted nature and friendliness right after fighting. "Well that's the fastest friendship I've ever seen develop," he joked as they approached him.

"What can I say?" replied Jonas. "Apparently we both make friends easily. You already know who Balean and Kojak are, but they don't know you. Balean, this is my other friend Dan—"

"Danthor Kurock and Lethella Borman, step forward!" Herod announced.

Jonas looked at Herod, then Balean and said, "Ah, I guess you'll find out who my friend Danthor is soon enough." He then turned to Danthor. "Good luck, I know you'll be fine."

"Thanks," Danthor said, leaving the viewing area and walking onto the field.

It was at that point that he noticed his opponent stepping onto the field. The first immediate thing Danthor noticed was that Lethella was a young woman. She had black hair that she parted to the right and kept the rest of it loosely tied into a ponytail that stopped halfway down her back. She had a youthful face, but it looked very serious at the moment.

"Oh boy . . ." Jonas said. "This probably won't turn out well."

Balean nodded and said, "Maybe, but you gotta consider him kinda lucky."

"Why's that?"

Balean grinned mischievously. "Because he gets to fight someone good-looking."

Jonas sighed and put his hand to his face. "True enough . . ."

Danthor searched through the pile of weapons until he found what he wanted, a sword and shield. And much to his joy, the sword was sharpened and not rusted, while the shield was made of real metal. He then turned towards his opponent and saw that she was wielding a sword in her right hand and a staff in her left hand.

"State your name and any previous affiliation for the record," Herod said.

"Danthor Kurock. I was a former farmer in Tirisfal."

"Lethella Borman, former mage of the Kirin Tor and warrior of the Argent Dawn."

Danthor was shaking slightly, knowing he was going against a more skilled opponent. Still, he managed a weak (if not friendly) smile and said, "Good luck."

"I suggest you save it for yourself," Lethella said.

"Begin!"

Lethella rushed towards Danthor immediately, letting loose a battle cry and raising her staff up high and bringing it down quickly, intent on smashing Danthor's skull. Instead, it struck his shield, which he raised just in the knick of time. Lethella didn't seem disheartened, and without skipping a beat swung the sword in her other hand towards Danthor.

He was able to parry the blow, and for a second the two were at a deadlock. Finally, Danthor summoned enough strength to push her off and make her take a few steps back. That's when he took the initiative and moved towards Lethella with his shield raised high and his sword ready to strike.

He swung his sword at her, but she masterfully parried it with her staff, quickly knocking his weapon away. Seeing an opening, she lunged forward with her sword in an attempt to run Danthor through, but he shifted his weight at the last moment and was able to dodge it, only getting a light slash on his chest.

Acting on pure instinct now, Danthor brought his sword back towards Lethella, who blocked the strike with her own blade. With a roar, Danthor threw all his weight towards his shield and was able to slam it into her chest, dropping her on the floor. No longer thinking—just acting—Danthor raised his sword up and brought it down towards her.

Fortunately for Lethella, she was able to leap up just in time and brought up both her staff and sword in an X shape to stop the sword in its tracks, and once again the two were at a deadlock.

"It seems I've underestimated you a bit, warrior," Lethella said with sarcasm clearly present in your voice.

Danthor ignored it and asked, "You said you were a mage, but then why are you carrying a sword and trying to melee me?"

"Simple . . ." Lethella said with a grin.

Before Danthor could act, a blast wave of fire shot out of Lethella, striking him in his unprotected chest and burning off part of his shirt. The wave was so powerful that it was actually able to cut open Danthor's stomach, and he staggered back gripping his new wound before finally dropping onto the floor.

Lethella lowered her two weapons and stared at Danthor's prone figure. " . . . I'm a battle mage," she finished. She turned towards Herod and said, "Don't bother with him anymore. He's no doubt passed out from pain and—"

"Wait!"

Lethella turned to Danthor and saw that he was slowly standing up. He was still using his right arm to cover his wound, but he had his shield raised in the other arm, ready to block anything else she would try. Lethella saw this and said, "Not bad. You're certainly as stubborn as you look."

"Just one of my many charming qualities," replied Danthor with a weak grin. Once again, when backed into a corner, he relies on using sarcastic remarks to try and mask his weakness and fear.

"Alright then," Lethella said, slightly angered by his reply. "Let me show you why being stubborn against me won't do you any good."

She held out her sword with her right hand, which Danthor noticed was glowing red. Then, before he could blink, the power shot from her hand all the way to the tip of the sword, allowing it to glow red with flames.

She pointed the sword at Danthor and said, "Don't worry, I'll be sure to end your suffering quickly if you insist on being so stubbornly foolish."

"I'm ready when you are," Danthor said.

Lethella didn't move two steps before she heard Herod yell: "Stop! That's enough. Both of you, come here."

The flame at the tip of Lethella's sword disappeared as they both threw their weapons back into the pile and walked towards Herod. Danthor was still gripping his stomach when the Scarlet champion began talking.

"You both did very well," stated Herod. He looked at Lethella and said, "I'm surprised at how powerful you are. We don't get many battle mages around here, and you'll certainly be a welcome addition to the Crusade. Due to your . . . versatility, I'm going to place you under both the tutelage of myself and Arcanist Doan. With training from both of us, you'll be able to fully harness your powers."

"Thank you," Lethella said.

Herod turned to Danthor. "While you may not have great form when it comes to fighting, you've clearly shown that you're resilient and you can take a hit, which is why I'm going to place you under my wing so I can help you learn the proper techniques to fight against the undead. Do you need medical attention for your wound?"

"I'll be fine," Danthor said. "It's really nothing. Thanks for your concern, though."

Herod wrote quick notes under both their name before saying, "Very well, back to the viewing area."

Danthor and Lethella walked in separate directions back to where they could watch the rest of the fights. When Danthor got back to Jonas and Balean, the paladin said, "Danthor, are you alright? Here, let me inspect your wound."

He gently leaned Danthor against the wall separating the arena from the viewing area and moved Danthor's arms. There, he inspected the wound on his stomach. "So how is it?" Danthor asked.

"It's only a light cut, so nothing bad," Jonas said. Both his hands started to glow as he held them over his wound, letting the Light heal the wounds. "It should be fine."

"Man, you sure got unlucky," Balean said. "I mean, going up against a battle mage? By the Light, they're as tough as they come, using swords and magic in conjunction to kill their enemies!"

"And she certainly seemed like a cheery one," Jonas added..

"Yeah . . ." Danthor said, slowly closing his eyes and allowing the Light to flow into his wound.

The fight after Danthor's continued for a little while, before the wounded warrior heard someone yell: "No! Please, stop! No more!"

This caused Danthor to open his eyes and peek over the wall. There, he saw a bleeding man on the ground, his weapon of choice (a two-handed sword) laying far away from him while his opponent was hovering over him with a sword to his throat. The wounded man was begging for his life, quickly jumping up and running towards Herod.

"Please, stop the fight, I can't continue with my injury!" he pleaded.

Herod didn't grace him with a response. He only replied by grabbing the axe on his back and bring it crashing down against the begging recruit in the blink of an eye. He didn't utter a sound as he hit the ground, dead. Everyone was deathly silent as Herod held his bloodied axe up.

"Now listen up!" he yelled. "I don't know what some of you think this is, but I can assure you that joining the Crusade is no game! We have no need for weaklings and cowards when fighting against the undead! If some of you think you can't handle what the Crusade is going to ask you to do, then step forward right now and I'll happily oblige you with my axe, Ravager!"

No one spoke up. If anyone had any illusions about joining the Scarlet Crusade, it was shattered in that instant, leaving only fear of the unknown in its wake.

* * *

><p><em>Signs of inhumanity.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	5. Talks at the Banquet

At the farmstead in Tirisfal Glades. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>5: Talks at the Banquet<span>**

Farmer Solliden, owner of the Solliden Farmstead, coughed up a good amount of blood before buckling to his knees. He looked around him and saw nothing but the bodies of the humans who lived at his farm. To his right, his barn was ablaze. Finally, he looked at the pumpkins in the field he was in and saw that they were glowing a translucent green.

It all started about a week ago, when several of his employees were getting sick. A few days after that, they were dead, killed by some new unknown plague. They were only able to link the plague's source to the pumpkins when it was too late. And now, it appeared that the Solliden Farmstead—one of the last safe areas for humans in Tirisfal—had fallen, with farmer Solliden being its last living occupant.

"Such a shame it had to come to this," the farmer heard from behind him. He quickly turned around and saw Garomaw Grimhand standing over him with his sword and dagger gripped in his hands. "This could have ended much more civilly if you humans weren't so stubborn."

Solliden coughed yet again and said weakly, "We were here first, but you Forsaken are greedy people who like using underhanded tactics instead of actually fighting us head-on."

Solliden heard another voice from behind, steeping forward from the ranks of the several Forsaken soldiers who helped destroy the farmstead. This particular undead had gray, messy hair that fell over his forehead and wore gray robes to cover his gangly body. The most prominent feature was the leather straps forming an X over his face, crossing right at the bridge of his nose. To his dying day, Solliden didn't know what that strap was for, but he guessed it was to hold his rotting face together.

"Using such unrefined head-on tactics did us no good in the past," the Forsaken said. "The Scarlet Crusade protecting this land would always somehow come up on top—it must be their zeal and fervor that helped them there. That's why the Dark Lady enlisted the help of the Royal Apothecary Society to use more . . . subtle means of finally taking over this land that you've enjoyed for far too long."

"Enough, Rammius," Garomaw said. "Don't waste your breath on this dying human. Your new plague concoction clearly worked, but that's no reason to start running your mouth off like a fool."

Apothecary Rammius gave Garomaw a brief bow in apology. "Of course Captain Grimhand; my apologies."

While the two undead were talking with each other, Solliden eyed a shovel by his side. He knew his time was up, but he would be damned if he couldn't at least take one of those Forsaken bastards with him! Summoning all of his remaining strength, he grabbed the shovel and leapt up, raising the weapon high and letting out a triumphant roar. He was aiming for the apothecary, since he was the one who plagued his farm.

Both Garomaw and Rammius were clearly surprised at this, and Solliden probably would've struck the apothecary's head if an arrow didn't come zipping between the two and striking Solliden right in his throat. For a second, no one knew what had happened, as the farmer just stood there with his shovel raised high, letting out a little gurgle. Then, he finally dropped his weapon and fell to the floor.

"That was pretty sloppy," both Garomaw and Rammius heard from behind them. "The first rule of combat is to never underestimate an opponent if they still have a pulse. Wouldn't you agree, 'captain'?"

Suddenly, from out of the shadows, a female undead high elf stepped in front of the two, clad in black leather with a dark hood covering her shoulder-length white hair, pale skin, and red eyes. She had a saber strapped to her hip and an elven bow in her hand.

"Dark Ranger Velonara," Garomaw scowled. "I don't remember you tagging along on this little mission of ours."

Velonara smirked, saying, "That's no way to thank someone for saving your life. And you're right, I wasn't invited for this expedition. But Lady Sylvanas was getting impatient with your slow progress here, so she sent me along to make sure everything was going as planned. Secretly, of course."

"Don't blame us about that," Rammius said defensively. "It took a few weeks for the plague to be created and distributed, but look at its results. Surely the Dark Lady wouldn't argue with the now near-pristine state of territory she owns."

"Except for the barn," Velonara said, motioning towards the burning building.

"Had to be done," replied Garomaw. "The plague can do much, but when push comes to shove and the farmers try to rebel, good old fashioned combat is the only way to solve things."

"True," Velonara conceded. "I'm sure Lady Sylvanas will be quite pleased with your results. Though the last thing I'd want is for you to think I'm here for any malicious reason." She turned around, her black cloak swirling, and moved towards the Forsaken troops waiting for their next orders. "Now come, I'm sure our queen would like a full report on your victory."

"Lieutenant Sorenson," Garomaw said to his second-in-command as he and Rammius were passing through the troops, "you're charged with protecting this farmstead until I get back. You're in command of all the troops now."

"Of course, captain," replied Sorenson with a quick salute.

— — —

It was near nightfall now, and all of the Scarlet recruits once again found themselves at the Crusader's Chapel in the cathedral area of the monastery. This time, though, a rather large banquet table was placed in the hallway leading up to the altar near the back of the church. At the head of the table were all of the leaders of the monastery.

This banquet was meant to celebrate how far the recruits had come to make it to this point, and to kick off the official beginning of their training period to become warriors of the undead.

After the last two recruits had finished their battle during Herod's placement test, the champion wrote a few final notes on his roster, sent it off for processing, and announced to all the recruits that they were finished and could go back to the cathedral for a celebratory dinner. In the end, only four recruits had been killed during the test (including the one finished by Herod himself). By the champion's own admission, this was an encouragingly low number.

Tension was still high and morale was still low when the recruits were dismissed, but a banquet was welcome for the rather hungry recruits. It was only when they entered the doors to the cathedral that their moods brightened considerably. The whole room was alight with color, as the red tapestries gray stone seemed to be particularly bright and inviting. There were still a large amount of Scarlet troops lining the walls of the cathedral, though, standing stiff at attention.

When they entered, the main leaders of the monastery (lovingly dubbed the "Big Four" by Jonas) were already seated at the head of the table. Upon seeing the tired and hungry recruits, Mograine stood up and said, "Welcome, please come in and take a seat. Make yourselves comfortable."

This was gratefully done by everyone, and before long, every seat at the table was filled. Danthor was seated next to Jonas and Balean. When everyone settled down, Mograine stood up yet again, and upon seeing his imposing figure, everyone went silent.

"I have been informed by our champion Herod here that you all performed admirably in the first part of your training," he said. "What's even better is that I was informed we lost only four recruits during the process, which is among the lowest numbers any of us have ever seen. This should speak, I think, to the great potential we have sitting before us."

The entire table erupted into clapping and cheering. Danthor couldn't help but think that they were clapping over people dying.

"Now our champion should have told most of you who you would most likely be taught by for the majority of your training here," Mograine continued. "And while I'd like to stress that you will all be getting training time with each of us, your main instructor is the one you'll be getting the most time with. I'd like to take the moment now to allow each of them to introduce themselves. I of course am Renault Mograine, the Scarlet Commander at the monastery and acting instructor of paladins."

Herod stood up and was not wearing his helmet (so he could eat the food, most likely), revealing his shaved blonde head and haggard, war-like face. Still, he managed a smile and said, "I'm Herod, the acting instructor of warriors and official champion of the monastery."

Next stood up a man clad in red robes who was clearly balding—with no hair on top of his head, but reddish hair all around the rest of it—and had a full beard, giving him a scholarly appearance. He cleared his throat and said, "My name is Arcanist Doan, acting instructor of mages and spellcasters as well as history."

The last person at the table stood up after this. It was a woman with shoulder-length white hair, pale skin, and dark eyes, clad in a red shirt with thigh-high red boots and a red chapeau placed upon her head. "And I'm High Inquisitor Whitemane," she said, "acting instructor of priests, monks, chaplains, and abbots, as well as leader in daily spiritual life and prayer at the monastery."

As soon as she sat down, Mograine stood back up. "It is with the greatest pride that I would like to officially welcome all of you to the Scarlet Crusade. Now please, enjoy your banquet and be prepared to start training tomorrow!"

With that, the food was brought out and placed on the table. Among it was various meats, breads, cheeses, and drinks (though very little of it alcoholic). The recruits started piling it on their plates and happily began eating and engaging in chats with those sitting near them.

"So who'd you guys get placed with?" Danthor asked curiously, biting off a piece of his bread.

"I got placed with Mograine, myself," Jonas said, chewing his food slowly. "I'd imagine he'll be teachin' me about using my paladin powers to fight more effectively against the undead. You know, instead of just swinging a giant mace at them."

"How 'bout you, Balean?" asked Danthor.

Balean Orthel put a piece of chicken underneath the table to secretly feed to his dog, Kojak, who was patiently sitting there with his tail wagging in anticipation. "Herod thought I'd make a good beastmaster, so he placed me under the command of Houndmaster Loksey, their resident hunter trainer."

"Who's he?" inquired Danthor.

"Not quite sure of that, myself," Balean said. "All I know is that he resides near the Scarlet library where Arcanist Doan also trains his recruits. Apparently he'll be teaching me how to become an expert marksman and use Kojak more effectively in battle, isn't that right, boy?" He patted Kojak on the head; he replied with a gentle bark.

"So where are they placing you?" Jonas asked Danthor.

Danthor swallowed the food in his mouth before answering. "I'm gonna be trained under Herod in the armory. With luck, he'll be able to make me into a proper warrior."

"And not one who gets his ass kicked by a battle mage," Balean said with a grin.

"True enough," Danthor said.

Jonas scanned to table to try and find Lethella, asking, "What was her deal, anyway? She acted like she had a personal grudge against you."

"I dunno," replied Danthor. "All I can say is that she seems very serious in her demeanor and attitude—something that'll probably go very far in this organization."

"Well she sure isn't talkin' to anyone," Jonas said, subtly tilting his head to where she was located at the table.

Danthor and Balean looked over and saw Lethella Borman sitting a good distance away from them at the table, eating her food slowly and ignoring the chatter coming around her from all sides. Her face was once again that of seriousness and lacked any kind of joy despite the celebration.

Balean made a sour face. "She looks like she's got her own personal problems, alright. It'd probably be best to just let her be."

"She'll be trained under both Herod and Doan," Danthor explained. "She's certainly one of the strongest at the table."

Jonas took a sip of his drink before saying, "She seems like a real prodigy. I'm willin' to bet she'll rise really fast in this organization."

"Ah, who cares," Balean said, leaning back in his chair. "We won't be seein' her anytime soon, except for old Danthor over here. Hope that doesn't get too awkward for ya."

Danthor still found himself looking at her, completely perplexed by her demeanor at what should be a joyous occasion. He was so immersed that he didn't even hear Balean's remark, prompting him to shake his shoulder.

"Huh? What?" he asked, blinking.

"I said you'll be the only one who might have to be in contact with her," Balean repeated. "I hope for your sake that doesn't get too bad, or she might really kill you."

"Oh, yeah . . ." Danthor said quietly, looking back down at his plate of food. Throughout the rest of the meal, he kept trying not to look at her or her dark gaze, but found that no matter how hard he tried, he always found himself looking back.

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><p><em>A complicated relationship, to say the least . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	6. Rank and File

The morning after the banquet . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>6: Rank and File<span>**

A large bell rang at the crack of dawn, followed by someone yelling, "Come on, boys, rise and shine! You've got a full day ahead of you!"

Danthor opened his eyes slowly, staring at the drab and gray ceiling. After a few more seconds, he sighed and got out of his bed. Every wing of the monastery has barracks for all of the Scarlet troops, and Danthor found himself placed at the barracks right in the armory, where he was surrounded by weapons, supplies, and grim-faced warriors all the time.

The man who was yelling looked to be a Scarlet guardsman, wearing red-and-gray chainmail and having an iron spear strapped to his back. He looked at all the tired men slowly getting up and grinned maliciously. "Come on, you lot! You can't expect to be brave soldiers of the Crusade if it takes you _this_ long to get up. Now hurry up, or you'll miss breakfast!"

"Shut up, it's too early for this," Danthor muttered underneath his breath while putting on his clothes as the guardsman continued to yell and berate the men . . .

Eventually, everyone made it to the dining area, which, similar to the barracks, each wing had their own separate version of. As Danthor made it to the breakfast tables with a plate of food that was shoved into his arms (and not looking particularly appetizing either—a far cry from the banquet last night), he looked around to see if he could find any familiar faces, but was unsuccessful.

That was, unsuccessful in all but one instance. There, not too far from where Danthor was standing, sat Lethella Borman, eating alone with no one sitting on either side of her.

_Wonder why that is,_ Danthor thought to himself before finally saying out loud, "Oh well, no harm in trying . . ." He moved towards where Lethella was eating and sat down next to her, asking, "Mind if I sit here?"

Lethella shook her head and continued eating her food. Danthor spooned a bite full of what he believed to be oatmeal into his mouth and found that his previous thoughts were right—this was not nearly as good as what he ate last night.

"I'm surprised to see you here, to be honest," Danthor said, trying to start a conversation. "I thought you'd have been in the Scarlet library, training vigorously under Doan in the art of magic."

"I'm training in both combat and magic, thus I'll be alternating which area I train in daily," Lethella replied, still looking at her plate of food. Then, she looked up at Danthor and looked deep in thought. "Do I know you?"

Danthor's face scrunched up. "You're kidding, right?"

Lethella shook her head.

"I'm Danthor," he said, pointing to himself. "We fought yesterday, remember?"

It took Lethella a second before she seemed to finally understand. "Oh, now I remember. You're that weakling warrior I completely destroyed during the placement test."

"Don't know if you have to put it like that, but yeah."

Lethella finished off her plate and stood up to return it, saying, "I'd suggest you train hard while here, warrior. You're definitely the one who needs the most help out of all of the recruits."

With that, she walked away, leaving Danthor with a half-eaten plate of food in front of him and anger gripping his thoughts. Before he knew it, he began shoveling the rest of the food in his mouth, saying, "Stupid battle mage, thinking she's better than everyone else just because she can fight and use magic at the same time . . . I can't believe I lost to someone so arrogant! Next time I'll definitely kick her ass!"

"Easy there, man, you're bound to choke at the rate he's going," one of the men at the table said, patting Danthor on the back.

The man's friend sitting next to him said, "Don't bother him. Can't you see he just got into a fight with his girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend!" Danthor yelled, causing the two to recoil. He saw their reaction and said, "What I mean is that she and I aren't . . . we're not even really friends, she just happened to . . . ah, forget it!"

Danthor stood up with his empty plate of food and walked away, still muttering to himself. When he was gone, one of the two men whispered to the other, "What do you suppose is wrong with that guy?"

— — —

The sun was just pushing through the fog when everyone was standing at attention, divided up into three lines, in the Training Grounds where all of the recruits fought just the day before. Placed about halfway through the grounds were three large tables, each with a Scarlet crusader manning them, a piece of paper in front of each of them.

Standing in front of the lines was a Scarlet protector, a paladin-like warrior wearing the standard tabard and armor and equipped with a one-handed mace and shield. She looked at the recruits and said, "Now that we've all decided what wing of the monastery you belong to, now we have to further divide you into what rank you will be placed into."

"Rank? Does it really matter?" asked one of the men.

"Yes, it does," the protector said. "At the Crusade, rank means quite a lot, and it's often the goal of many soldiers to try and climb the ranks as quickly as they can to achieve more clout within this organization. Now due to Herod's notes placed on these sheets, all you need to do is state your name when you reach the table, and they'll immediately assign your rank to you. Some of you ranked higher than others due to your performance, but it's possible for all of you to rise in the ranks if you prove yourself. When you've gotten your rank, you'll get your weapons and armor. Go back to the barracks and put them on, then come back to the Training Grounds immediately. Am I understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!" everyone yelled at once.

"Good," the protector said, moving towards the stairs that would take her to the armory.

Danthor was in the middle of the line at the table on the left. As he saw those in front of him get assigned their rank, armor, and weapons, he wondered where he'd place within the Scarlet Crusade. Going by his performance during the placement test, he didn't think he did terribly bad. Certainly not the best, but not the worst either.

This thought caused him to look over at where Lethella was standing, waiting in her place in line. _No doubt she'll place highly,_ he thought, gritting his teeth. _After all, her style of combat is probably the rarest in the Crusade._

"Next," the crusader behind the table said to Danthor. He was still deep in his own thoughts, though, and still looking at Lethella. The crusader didn't have time to waste and repeated, "Next!"

"Oh, right, sorry," Danthor said, quickly snapping back into it and moving towards the table. "Uh, my name's Danthor Kurock."

"Kurock, Kurock . . ." the crusader said, running his index finger down the paper in an attempt to find his name. Finally, his finger stopped and he looked up. "Says here you're to attain the rank of Scarlet soldier."

"Okay," Danthor said, shifting his weight nervously. "So how well does that rank place among the others?"

The crusader was busy looking behind him at the stockpile of weapons and armor in an attempt to find the proper equipment for Danthor. He heard the question and replied distantly, "Huh? Oh, it's one of the lowest ranks we got here, just about at the bottom of the barrel." He placed all the equipment Danthor would need on the table and finished, "Those that get the rank of soldier can't do much more than swing and sword and block with their shield, though even then those that can do that well enough get the rank of Scarlet defender. Here's your equipment."

Danthor gathered up what was on the table and began walking away, saying, "Thanks for the info . . ."

He made it back to the barracks and placed the equipment on his bed (which was really just a dingy and frayed cot). Sifting through it, he found that his armor was made of some kind of tough red leather.

"Not even good enough to wear mail, I suppose," he muttered, putting the armor aside.

He found a sheathed sword and shield next. The shield was similar to the one he used when fighting Lethella. It was metal and square-shaped. He unsheathed his sword and saw that it too was similar to the one he used in the placement test. It was a bit shorter than what he'd have liked, but it was made of metal and was decently sharp. At least it was much better than what his father left him back on the farm.

He moved the weapons aside and found the final piece of equipment he was given. It was a tabard of the Scarlet Crusade, white with a red trim placed around the edges. At the center was a red flame—the symbol of the Crusade itself, purging the world of undead with righteous fire.

Danthor just stood there for a few minutes, staring at the equipment he was given. Sure, he may have been placed in one of the lowest ranks within the organization, but at least he was _part_ of an organization—one that had a righteous goal of destroying the undead and freeing Lordaeron. He might not have ever thought himself to be here when he was younger, but he must admit, it felt better than just being a poor farmer stuck at the Solliden Farmstead.

"Enough," he said to himself, willing himself to begin putting on his armor. "You're wasting time here. Time to begin the real training."

— — —

By the time Danthor got back to the Training Grounds, the tables were gone and Herod was standing right at the door that led down into the actual armory. Nearly everyone was there, all wearing their new armor, clearly denoting their rank. Some were Scarlet guardsman, protectors, soldiers, defenders, and the occasional myrmidon—with two swords strapped at their sides—but all of them were wearing a tabard of the Crusade.

"Welcome back, crusaders," Herod said when the last of the trainees arrived. "No doubt after putting on your new armor, weapons, and tabard, you're feeling a stronger bond with the Crusade and your fellow crusaders. However, I would like to remind you that even though you have attained the ranks you've been given, you still have a long way to go to prove yourself as a warrior of righteousness. Still, I have high hopes for your potential, and know that if you work hard and listen to our instructions, you'll be ready to battle the undead before you know it."

The group cheered at this. It seemed spirits were high now that everyone was officially in Scarlet Crusade gear. _It's probably the tabard that has the biggest effect,_ Danthor thought. _It makes everyone feel like they have a sense of belonging, a sense of worth._

As the cheering died down, Herod looked at the group directly and said, "Alright, I'd like the guardsman, myrmidons, and protectors to follow me down into the armory, please, and we'll get the training underway."

A sizeable amount of the group began to move closer to the Scarlet champion. As he was turning around to descend the stairs into the armory, Danthor yelled, "Wait, what about the rest of us?"

Herod turned around, and Danthor sensed that underneath his helmet his face had a look of surprised confusion on it. "I don't have time to be training everyone at once, soldier, so I'm splitting up the training and focusing on one type of crusader at a time. Don't worry, I'm leaving you under the care of some of our more senior crusaders for now."

With that, Herod motioned for those he called to follow him down into the armory while a Scarlet defender stepped forward and said to those remaining on the Training Grounds, "Alright, listen up! We're gonna start you off with some basic sword exercises. See those dummies set up at the side? I want you to pretend like it's an enemy and practice your sword swings on it."

It was at that point that Danthor noticed Lethella walking down into the armory with Herod. She had two swords strapped to her side, implying that she achieved the rank of Scarlet myrmidon, one of the strongest warriors in all of the monastery (or so he'd heard).

For some unknown reason, this caused Danthor to get angry, as he drew his sword and shield and held them in a death grip. He moved towards one of the dummies and raised his sword high, letting loose a battle cry. His sword hit the dummy on the shoulder hard and fast, and almost as soon as it hit, he brought his sword back and slashed the dummy right across the chest.

He kept at that pace for eight more swings, until his rage was all but gone.

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><p><em>A long way to go.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	7. Training Days

A brief history of the Crusade. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>7: Training Days<span>**

"And so, with the fall of Uther the Lightbringer at the hands of his former apprentice, Arthas Menethil—now known better as the Lich King—the Knights of the Silver Hand were all but decimated as all of Lordaeron fell before the Scourge," Arcanist Doan explained to the crusaders in his own personal chambers, known as the Athenaeum, in the Scarlet Library.

Danthor never got to meet with Herod on his first day of training, and spent a good amount of time practicing his sword swings in the Training Grounds at the armory. Though he wouldn't admit it out loud, the instructions he got from the Scarlet defenders on how to properly use a sword in battle were very helpful to the former farmer, and he found himself improving already.

When the sun was directly overhead, the warriors broke for lunch and were then sent off to the library wing for the next few hours, where they were told they'd be taught some of the history of the Crusade by Doan, and then the art of ranged combat by Houndmaster Loksey.

"During this siege, Isillien, a former priest of the Holy Light, and the elder Abbendis, paladin and father of Brigitte Abbendis, fought valiantly against the undead, bravely gathering anyone who was still alive on the battlefield. Perhaps it was the shock of Arthas's betrayal and the dissolving of the Silver Hand, but from that battle on, Abbendis and Isillien pledged to create a new order to destroy the undead and free Lordaeron from the grips of the Scourge—the Scarlet Crusade."

Balean, who was a part of the group listening to the lecture (meeting up with Danthor at the Huntsman's Cloister, the area just before the actual library), leaned over to him and whispered, "I've heard that Isillien and Abbendis went insane after that battle, but I guess they were sane enough to create this whole organization, so what do I know?"

Danthor nodded absently, absorbing all the knowledge Doan was putting forth, utterly fascinated with the creation of the Crusade.

"With the Crusade created, Isillien took on the rank of High Inquisitor while Abbendis became the High General, leading the organization together while powerful crusaders gathered under them like Highlord Taelan Fordring, Scarlet Commander Renault Mograine, and Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan. Fordring offered his home of Hearthglen in the Western Plaguelands as a base of operation for the Crusade, while Abbendis took control of Tyr's Hand in theEastern Plaguelands."

Danthor glanced around the room they were in. It was circular with the walls crammed full of bookshelves, each of them stuffed to capacity with several books, all on various subjects. There was so much in that room it was almost overwhelming.

"Unfortunately, the elder Abbendis died while fighting the Scourge, leaving his daughter to become the new High General. Currently, the Crusade is led by Grand Crusader Dathrohan, who commands the Scarlet Bastion in the city of Stratholme, constantly fighting against the Scourge who control it. High Inquisitor Isillien and Highlord Fordring control Hearthglen, while High General Abbendis now commands from Tyr's Hand."

Doan dropped the book he was reading from onto the desk near the back of his room, causing a loud sound to emanate from the impact. Everyone looked up at this to see Doan standing there and staring at them all.

"That concludes the basic history of the Crusade," he said. "I've still got you for about an hour before Loksey takes over, so I'm offering my extensive library to you. Feel free to read whatever you like to try and gain as much knowledge as possible. I only ask that you return them when you leave. Feel free to pick whatever you want, and remember, a powerful crusader is an intelligent crusader."

With that, the crusaders began to wander around the library, looking at the extensive books, starting with Doan's circular room and extending all the way down the long hallway of the Athenaeum. Danthor and Balean walked slowly down the hall, looking at the books thoughtfully.

"Quite a collection he's got here," Balean said, glancing around. "How long do you think it took for him to gather up so many—" He saw that Danthor had stopped moving, staring now at a single bookshelf. "What are you lookin' at?"

Danthor moved closer and picked out a single book. He turned it to look at its cover and saw that it was called _A Brief and Varied History of Gilneas Life_. Danthor opened the book to the front page and saw that it clearly wasn't read that much.

"You a fan of Gilneas or something?" asked Balean, leaning over Danthor's shoulder and seeing what book he held in his hand.

"Huh? Oh, no, not really." He closed the book with a dull thud. "It's just that my sister used to be a huge fan of anything that had to do with that city . . ."

Balean noticed the past tense when speaking of his sister, and sensed the worst had happened to her. He put his hand on his shoulder and said, "You can take a look at it if you like."

"No, not now," Danthor said, putting the book back on the shelf. "It's a bit too soon for that. Besides, I'm not a big reader—my sister was always the more intelligent one."

"Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear." They both turned around to see Arcanist Doan behind them, a smile on his face. "You'd be surprised, but not a lot of the crusaders we get around read a lot when they were younger. It's understandable, of course, but a shame. That's why I make it my duty to get as many crusaders as I can reading so they can not only learn more about the world around them, but also about the history that's made the world how it is today."

Danthor wasn't quite sure of what to say to this, so he uttered, "Uh . . . thanks, I guess."

Doan put his hand on Danthor's back and began to lead him away from the bookshelf. "Here, follow me. I've got a great book to start you off with, and you can feel free to take them with you to read in your free time—provided you return them eventually, of course."

Balean couldn't help but laugh a bit as he scratched the back of his head. He then looked around and muttered, "I wonder where the wilderness section is around here . . ."

— — —

The Huntsman's Cloister in the Scarlet Library reminded Danthor a lot of the Training Grounds in the Scarlet Armory, probably because they were both designed to be near identical, with the cloister being a square piece of untouched grassland surrounded on all sides by manmade stone walkways.

Upon the rules of Arcanist Doan, none of the hunter's pets are allowed into the library section for fear of them destroying something. Due to this, Kojak was left under the care of Houndmaster Loksey while Balean and Danthor were being taught by Doan. When the arcanist dismissed them to be taught by the houndmaster, the first place Balean went was to get his companion Kojak.

Loksey himself looked like a rather unassuming man. He was about the same height as everyone else, had the same balding pattern as Doan and a brown moustache, and had two one-handed axes on both of his hips. His Scarlet tabard was different from the rest of theirs, with a gold trim instead of a red one and a vertical red stripe going down the center and cutting through the flame in the center. Though Danthor noticed that all of the leaders wore this type of tabard to denote their superior rank. He also constantly had three Scarlet tracking hounds at his side at all time.

"Some of you know me, some of you don't," he said to those gathered in the cloister. "I'm Houndmaster Loksey, the captain placed in charge of training the Scarlet beastmasters and their pets."

"That would be me," Balean said with a grin.

"Congratulations," replied Danthor.

Loksey pulled out a bow and strung an arrow in it. Just as quickly as he did that, he let the shaft fly, zipping between Balean and Danthor's head and hitting the target dummy behind them right in the head. The two of them looked at each other apprehensively, then back to Loksey.

"Oh, and I should mention I don't like people talking when I'm talking," Loksey said. "When training beasts, it's best to let them know who's the master right off the bat, right?"

"Right, right!" both Balean and Danthor said quickly, raising their hands up as if in an apology. Kojak let out a nervous bark.

Loksey smiled. "Good. Now where was I? Oh, that's right, I'll be teaching you how to be an effective marksman. Sure, fighting close-combat is good a lot of the time, but sometimes fighting the undead requires striking from afar. Now I want you all to come and line up behind me. You'll go one at a time and take this bow. Now you won't be able to hand it off to the person behind you until you hit the dummy anywhere on its body. Understand?"

Everyone was silent, not wanting to speak up.

This caused Loksey to laugh and say, "Good, good, you're learning already. Now let's go, line up!"

Danthor ended up being in front of Balean, who was about in the middle of the line to begin with. While in line, Danthor couldn't help but ask, "Why's he making us all use a bow? Can't we use guns or crossbows instead?"

"The bow is the best ranged weapon to learn with," Balean explained in a hushed whisper. "If you can aim and shoot with a bow, you can easily use a gun or crossbow, though I prefer the crossbow myself. Now be quiet, unless you want Loksey to shoot at us again!"

Danthor got the point and kept silent until he finally got to the front of the line. He'd never held a bow before, and it showed, as Loksey had to instruct him on how to properly grip it. He strung the arrow he was given and closed one eye, aiming at the target dummy on the other side of the cloister. He let the first arrow fly, and it clattered off the stone behind the dummy, missing entirely.

"Try again," Loksey said, handing him another arrow.

Danthor tried again, taking his time to try and line up the shot, and missed by another few inches just again.

"Here," Loksey said, handing him another arrow, "try tilting the bow slightly. It'll help you see better than if you just hold it straight in front of you."

Danthor tilted the bow a few degrees to his left and aimed again. Letting out a shaky breath, he fired the arrow, and much to his surprise, he was able to hit the dummy, albeit a few inches lower from his heart, which was where Danthor aimed.

"Good job," Loksey said, taking the bow and handing it to Balean. "Get back in line and we'll try it again. Now come on, Balean, I expect great things from someone who's been training with me all morning."

"Yes, sir," Balean said, taking the arrow and aiming at the dummy.

With one try, he was able to strike the dummy right in the head, very close to where Loksey had hit when firing between both he and Danthor. Kojak saw this and gave an excited bark. Balean handed the bow back to Loksey and went back in line behind Danthor.

"That was amazing," Danthor said to Balean as he rejoined him. "You hit him right between the eyes with one shot."

Balean shrugged, saying, "I've been training with ranged combat ever since I was little, so it always just seems to come naturally to me." He tipped Danthor a quick wink. "Feel free to ask me any questions for how to improve, if you'd like."

"Sure," replied the warrior. "For starters, how can I improve my aim. It always seems to be slightly off, no matter how much time I take trying to line up the shot."

Balean grinned as he patted Kojak on the head. "Well that has a relatively simple fix. I noticed your stance was a bit off, and trust me, that makes a big difference when aiming . . ."

The group practiced their shots two more times that day. With his second shot, Danthor hit the dummy on his third try, but on his third shot (and after some more advice from Loksey and Balean), he was able to hit the dummy on his first try.

Sure, the hit wasn't exactly where he was aiming, but Danthor thought it was a start.

* * *

><p><em>Learning a varied set of skills . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	8. Training Days 2: Scarlet Tactics

A session with Herod. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>8: Training Days 2 – Scarlet Tactics<span>**

By the time the bell rang on the second day, everyone knew what to expect. Danthor opened his eyes immediately and got dressed quickly, making his way out to the breakfast hall. He noticed Lethella wasn't there today, so he ate alone in silence.

When he made it out to the Training Grounds, Herod was already standing there, expecting everyone to line up in proper formation (which happened relatively quickly). "Nice to see you all lined up proper so early in the morning," he said once everyone was standing at attention. "Well, let's not waste any time. Yesterday I trained the assault classes, now today I want the Scarlet soldiers and defenders to follow me."

Danthor and a few others followed Herod down the stairs into the armory, known as the Footman's Armory. The inside was designed to have a series of identical square rooms (six stacked up in rows of two) with their walls jammed full of weapons and armor. Some of the rooms themselves were blocked by a heavy iron gate, in what Danthor could only assume housed the most important equipment.

They passed through four of the rooms (each filled with a large amount of crusaders), and came to a staircase that led them up to the next level into the Crusader's Armory. It had the same design as the Footman's Armory, and before long, the group was led into a long hallway.

At the end of the hallway was a set of heavy wooden doors. Herod stopped the group in front of the door and put his hands on it. "Welcome to my personal chambers, the Hall of Champions."

He opened the doors, revealing a rather large circular room with a double-staircase on both sides of them, leading to the center of the room on the bottom floor. Surrounding the entire room were eleven large statues placed against the walls, each with a placard placed under them, letting everyone know who they were commemorating. Warm light was shining from the domed roof, spotlighting perfectly at the red carpet placed in the center of the room—right to the point the two staircases lead.

"Wow . . ." Danthor couldn't help but utter as he saw the room.

"This is the room where we commemorate all of our previous champions and heroes," Herod said, descending the stairs. "Now I want you all to line up on either staircase and watch. Protector, come with me, please."

He pointed to one of the Scarlet protectors guarding just outside his room. The protector nodded and followed Herod down into the center of the room. No doubt the "volunteer" was a seasoned crusader chosen to help get a point across.

"Now I spent all of yesterday training our main attack force—the guardsmen, myrmidons, and protectors," he said, pointing to the protector standing next to him to get his point across. "And while having a strong assault force at the monastery is necessary, we also need a strong defensive force, or those who use shields when fighting. That's why today I'm going to be training you how to effectively use your shield for better blocking. Let us begin with a demonstration."

Herod pulled out his axe (named Ravager), while the protector took out his shield, striking it up in a defensive posture.

"You see immediately the type of stance you want to take when blocking a weapon," Herod said. "The shield should be raised up to protect the torso and head. This is especially useful for weapons being brought down on you, like so."

He raised his Ravager up and brought it down in a slow fashion, having it strike right at the center of the raised shield, harmlessly bouncing off as Herod drew his weapon back.

"Of course, you can't always expect your opponent to slowly raised their weapon up and bring it down," Herod said, swinging his axe towards the protector's side. "Sometimes, they'll go for a sweeping attack, in which case you want your shield raised to protect only your side or torso. Remember, you always want to center the shield so that the weapon hits it right in the middle."

The protector brought the shield up to his side, perfectly deflecting the axe.

"Finally, your opponent might go for a thrust," Herod said, pointing his Ravager right at the protector's chest. "This one can be the most problematic, as it's very quick and powerful, giving you little time to react. Of course, if you can't dodge it, you'll want to bring the shield as close to your body as possible at the spot being attacked, so you can use your body weight to your advantage."

The axe-head was thrust towards the protector, who blocked it in the way Herod described, giving a slight amount of ground, but not very much.

Herod pointed up to all those watching, saying, "Alright, now I want you all to come down here one at a time. You'll have to block three of my attacks in a row in order to pass. If not, we'll just keep doing it until you finally get it. Just be grateful I'm not using my full force, or you'd all be killed in an instant!"

While Danthor was waiting in line, he looked behind him to see a rather imposing stone statue standing behind him, almost seeming to look down upon him. This one was different from the others because it looked like it was missing its left arm entirely. Maybe the statue was broken, or the man the statue depicting only had one arm. He looked at the placard and read:

_Invar One-Arm  
>The first Chief Assassin of the Scarlet Crusade<br>Citizen of Dalaran  
>Lost off the Frozen Coast of Northrend along with<br>Grand Admiral Barean Westwind and  
>Captain General Orman of Stromgarde<em>

The warrior recalled Doan talking briefly about how the Crusade once tried to take the battle to the Lich King directly in the northern continent of Northrend, but failed, losing all of their ships and many high-ranking crusaders.

"Next!" Herod called, Danthor realizing he was the one being called up.

He quickly went to the center of the room and raised his shield up, ready for anything Herod might throw at him. His first attack was a side-sweep, which Danthor quickly blocked by raising his shield up to his side. Herod then raised his axe up and brought it down on him, which he was able to block by raising his shield up high. Unfortunately, he didn't expect Herod to thrust his axe directly at his chest, hitting him directly in the stomach and winding him.

"Again!" said Herod with a snarl.

He raised his Ravager up and brought it down, Danthor able to block it effectively, but he wasn't able to block the side-sweep used directly afterwards. On his third try he blocked the thrust and side-sweep, but was unable to bring his shield up in time to block the overhead attack (in part due to his arms getting tired and the shield getting increasingly heavy).

"Come on, soldier, focus!" roared Herod, going for a side-sweep.

On his fifth try, Danthor was finally able to block three in a row. He went through the exercise three more times in total before being sent off to the cathedral wing to be taught by Mograine.

— — —

"Herod may think he's teaching you well, instructing you on basic attacks and defenses, but that means nothing if you don't know basic troop formations or tactics," Scarlet Commander Mograine explained in front of the altar at the Crusader's Chapel. "Hence, my focus with you crusaders will be to teach you the simplest of strategies that'll keep you alive when fighting the undead."

Danthor glanced over and noticed Lethella was standing in the group chosen to be trained by Mograine at this particular time. This time, she was dressed in robes and mage garb with a staff strapped to her back. No doubt she's been training under Doan today.

"Now listen, and listen good," Mograine said to the crusaders gathered in the main hallway of the cathedral. "The Crusade prides itself on always charging head-on into battle, never turning tail or retreating. We have no use for cowards under our banner! So when fighting a group of the undead, we have no use for flanking them, as they're often slow and backstabbing doesn't do much good against them. Hence, the basic Scarlet formation is for the group to circle up, shoulder to shoulder, and surround the enemy, attacking them from all sides."

He stepped down the stairs from the altar and made his way to the middle of the group, grabbing his two-handed mace.

He looked around at the group and said, "Now pretend I'm an undead. Try circling around me like how I just explained."

It took the group a few minutes to get the formation just right, but sure enough they formed a tight circle around Mograine, surrounding him on all sides. He raised his mace up and started to charge at some crusaders, lashing out with his mace. The crusaders, not expecting this, began to back away when he lunged at them, but never broke formation.

After a few seconds, Mograine put away his weapon and said, "Good, good, you'll get the hang of the formation soon enough. Now for the next basic tactic . . ."

He walked back up to the altar. While he was doing that, Danthor looked to his immediate right and saw Lethella there. Apparently during their ring formation, he was able to get right next to her. She gave him a brief glance before looking back at the commander.

"Of course, that only works when fighting a small group of enemies," continued Mograine. "Say the group's a bit too big, or you're suddenly attacked from another side by new enemies. If forced to disperse, the best thing to do would be to pair up with a comrade and fight back-to-back. That way, you can know you're back's protected, and you'll be more effective fighting the group in front of you."

He motioned for all the crusaders standing at the side of the cathedral (like usual) to move more towards the center. Before the trainees knew it, they were surrounded.

"Now pretend all these crusaders are all undead and have you surrounded," Mograine said. "You can't run away, so pair up and fight back-to-back!"

The trainees began to pair up, and as luck would have it, Danthor ended up pairing up with Lethella. The crusaders surrounding them drew their weapons and began to move towards the trainees, who likewise drew their weapons. After a few bouts of swinging their weapons at each other (from a safe distance, of course), Danthor noticed the battle mage wasn't getting into it.

"What's the matter? You don't like fighting for your life?" asked the warrior.

Lethella swung her staff half-heartedly, replying with, "Its this whole strategy and teamwork thing that I'm not into. I prefer to fight alone."

"Well that certainly won't win battles," Danthor said. "You gotta learn to get along with your comrades if you ever expect to survive."

Lethella scoffed. "What would you know about surviving, warrior? Teaming up is a tactic the weak use. If you're strong enough, you can take anyone down on your own."

Danthor mock-blocked the crusader's strike (with a tactic he just recently learned from Herod, no less) and shook his head. "If that's your mentality, why'd you even join the Crusade? You seem more like the lone wolf-type anyways."

"Just because I'm strong doesn't mean I'm foolish," she shot back. "The Crusade has the appropriate resources needed to achieve my goal—eradicating the Scourge. I didn't join because I had no other option, like a lot of other people I could think of here."

Danthor was about to respond, but Mograine cut him off by stopping the exercise, saying, "Enough! Not bad for your first try, but it could use some work. Group back up and I'll tell you what to improve on."

Lethella began walking away from Danthor, saying, "Still, I suppose learning these tactics is perfect for someone like you, warrior . . ."

Danthor felt rage coursing through him. So much so that he held his weapons in a death grip, but quickly regained his cool. She was right, he was slowly (but surely) getting better, and it was only the second day of training. Before long, he was sure he could beat her in a rematch! With a win against her, she'd be forced to acknowledge his strength, skill, and worth.

Or at the very least, if he beat her, _he'd_ know of his own self-worth, and that would be enough for him.

* * *

><p><em>Keep at the training!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	9. Training Days 3: The Torture Room

Time to finish the day. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>9: Training Days 3 – The Torture Room<span>**

The day was beginning to wind down now, and Danthor found himself entering the Scarlet Graveyard—the place where they bury their fallen warriors.

After Mograine finished up his training session on Scarlet Crusade tactics, he told the crusaders to go and meet Interrogator Vishas at the Chamber of Atonement. Danthor had heard stories about the graveyard, and how he should stay away from it at all costs, with rumors of it actually becoming a stronghold of the Scourge, raising the fallen crusaders from the dead to serve them.

Fortunately, after hanging a quick left from the first hallway in the graveyard area, they found themselves in the Chamber of Atonement, where there were only crusaders standing guard. Apparently, the graveyard was just beyond this chamber, and he was strictly told by the crusaders in the chamber to never enter that area.

For what he saw inside the chamber, though, made him wish he was in the graveyard instead. The room had one large pillar in the middle, almost separating the room into four different areas. The chamber was dark and dank, with only a few lit torches lining the wall. What was truly horrifying, though, were the numerous torture boards and shackles that scattered all throughout the room. From what Danthor could see, there were at least three live prisoners chained to these devices, one of which was a human being.

"Over here," Vishas said to the group.

The interrogator himself was a tall, dark-skinned man with a red hood placed over his head, somewhat obscuring his features. In his hands he carried two pokers with the tips bright, as if they'd just been run through a fire.

He grinned at the trainees as they gathered around him. "Welcome, my name is James Vishas, head interrogator here at the monastery. As you can probably tell by the title, my job is to take our captured prisoners and try to get out any information we can that might aid the Crusade."

Everyone couldn't help but look behind Vishas as he spoke to see a ragged-looking male undead chained to a torture board behind him. His breathing was shallow and it looked like all life was nearly gone in his eyes.

"Now, it's of my opinion that interrogation is a necessary art that unfortunately has been underappreciated in recent years," continued Vishas. "When one knows what they're doing, the dark art of persuasion can yield incredible results. Hence, that's why the monastery has decided to teach you some of the basics, because you never know what kinds of useful information a captured foe can have."

He pointed to the undead behind him with his fiery-tipped poker.

"Take for example this piece of filth," Vishas said. "We found him inSilverpineForest, where he was—"

"The name is Vorrel," the undead on the table said with a raspy, yet still powerful voice. "Vorrel Sengutz. You should know, Vishas! After all, my name was inscribed on the ring you stole from me and gave to your wife!"

Danthor immediately found himself looking at the crimson ring on the middle finger of his right hand. He was given this ring right after his interrogation with Abbendis, being told that all Scarlet inductees get one to serve as a reminder to their cause—the eradication of all undead.

Vorrel tried his best to spit on the ground, but not much came of it. "I don't know why you'd wanna give her my shoddy old ring when you've got such a nice red one on your own—_AGHHHHHH!_"

Vishas jammed his poker right into Vorrel's kneecap, causing him to cry out, his once dull and near-lifeless eyes immediately springing to life with pain.

"I'd prefer not to be interrupted," growled Vishas in a threateningly low voice. "Especially not from some Forsaken piece of filth as yourself, so be a good prisoner and shut your mouth before I cut out your worthless tongue!"

He released the poker from Vorrel, causing the undead to pant with relief. For now, he kept quiet like he was told.

Vishas turned back to the crusaders and smiled. "Now where was I? Oh yes, if you're ever on the battlefield and happen to capture a foe, interrogating them is probably the best thing you can do. Now of course, this won't work on some of the mindless Scourge, but the Forsaken are a perfect example."

He walked towards Vorrel and stopped when he was standing at the Forsaken's head. Vorrel only looked up at him with the same dull and tired eyes that one can only get after being on the torture rack for a few weeks.

"Once the victim is properly restrained"—Vishas loosely tapped the chains keeping Vorrel in his place—"you can begin your interrogation. The obvious first step is to just plain ask him what you want. For example: What are the Forsaken's plans regarding the Scarlet Crusade?"

Vorrel looked at Vishas and uttered a small laugh. "As if the Dark Lady would let a lowly man such as myself in on her secret plans to obliterate you little red ants! And even if she did, I would never tell you anything!"

Vishas sighed and turned back to the crusaders. "It's not likely this method will work, but that's why it's only the first step. If your prisoner seems unwilling to cooperate, it's best to leave him alone in a very uncomfortable position for a little while. The solitude will allow them to ponder their fate and realize the futility of it all, while the eventual pain from their sitting or standing position may only hasten their decision."

He pointed back to Vorrel with his iron poker.

"We've tried that and more on this unfortunate prisoner. Be it sleep depravation, lack of food, dunking his head in ice cold water for a minute or two, or a constant barrage of questions in an attempt to confuse him, none of it has worked."

"That's 'cause we Forsaken are made of stronger stuff than you humans!" Vorrel cursed. "Any of you worms would've caved within the first hour!"

Danthor turned to look at Lethella, who was standing a good few feet away from him. He expected her to have some kind of reaction to this type of thing, but found her face held her usual stoic expression.

Vishas's face looked to be one of anger at this remark, but he seemed to quickly regain his composure. "If all of that fails—and you should at the very least try a few of those methods I just mentioned—then you _unfortunately_ must move onto what I think is the most persuasive form of interrogation—physical torment."

He held up his two iron pokers to the crusaders and grinned viciously.

"You're limited to the weapons you have on hand, of course," he said, "but I find that these two weapons work the best. Now I must stress that the point of this type of interrogation is to not kill your victim, but rather to inflict enough pain to get them to say what they want. Subsequently, this type of interrogation is the trickiest, as your victim may tell you anything in an attempt to stop the pain. To this, all I can say is remember the golden rule: If it doesn't make sense, it isn't true."

He moved back to Vorrel and held up the two pokers. The undead couldn't help but say, "Going back to the old torturing pokers already, huh? I knew you weren't a very good interrogator, James!"

"I'll ask you once more," Vishas said. "What are Sylvanas's plans in regards to the Scarlet Monastery?"

"I told you, I don't know anything about—_AGHHHHHHHH!_"

_(his eyes, once again alight with pain)_

"Liar!" spat Vishas, plunging his poker into Vorrel's exposed ribcage. "You were one of Sylvanas's chief captains in Silverpine! You must know something regarding the Scarlet Crusade!"

"Nothing! She told me nothing! You're not even based in Silverpine! We had the worgen to worry about, not you!"

Vishas took his currently free poker and jammed it into Vorrel's exposed palm, causing him to cry out even more. "You can make it end now, Vorrel! Just tell me what Sylvanas and her ilk have in regards to an attack strategy upon our crusade. We've been a thorn in their side for too long to have them not be planning anything!"

_(looking at Lethella, Danthor saw the same stoic expression on her face)_

"_ARGH! Alright, alright! I'll tell you, just stop!"_

Vishas withdrew his two flaming-hot pokers from Vorrel and looked back at the crusaders. "If your victim wishes to speak, stop the torture. The sudden relief will make them more susceptible to telling the truth." He turned back to Vorrel. "Now come on, Vorrel, what is it you wanted to tell me?"

Vishas drew his head close to Vorrel's. Before the undead said anything, he spat on Vishas's exposed cheek. (_He's able to spit now,_ Danthor couldn't help but think.) "The Dark Lady has great plans for you ants, you can be assured! Just wait, and before you know it, your precious monastery will crumble all around you, and those pokers won't do you good in a one-on-one fight, let me tell you . . ."

Vishas wiped the spit off of his cheek and turned back to the crusaders. With a feigned sigh, he said, "Of course, sometimes you'll just get the prisoners who won't want to tell you anything. In which case, you look at your crimson ring and remember the creed of the Crusade: Leave no undead alive!"

Without warning, Vishas plunged one of his pokers into Vorrel's chest, the hot and pointed tip easily sinking into his heart. Danthor closed his eyes and tried to look away, but found that he can't—his eyes slowly being drawn to the wide-eyed undead.

He coughed up some blood and looked at all of the crusaders watching. With his final breaths, he said, "So now you see . . . the true 'righteousness' of the Crusade . . ."

With that, Vorrel loosed his final breath, and his now-dull eyes glazed over.

Vishas pulled his poker out of Vorrel's corpse and looked back at the crusaders. "Tragic, but sometimes it's the only way. Still, even though this particular prisoner didn't yield results, if you follow the basic outline I just provided to you, it should usually work. Next time we meet, we'll go a bit more in-depth with various methods of interrogation. For now, it's near dinner time, so go back to your barracks and wash up."

As the crusaders began to disperse, Danthor shook his head. He hated the Forsaken with every ounce of his being (for obvious reasons), but he couldn't help but feel sorry for the broken man that had probably lied there for weeks, enduring who knows what in a vain attempt to get information.

And those final words he said to everyone . . . truly haunting.

— — —

Although they eat breakfast in their own separate wings, every dinner, the entirety of crusaders in the monastery gather at the cathedral wing to share their meal. They've been told it's meant to keep the bonds between the crusaders alive and well, but Danthor couldn't help but get the sneaking suspicion it was for Whitemane to give her daily sermon to them before they begin eating.

TheChapelGardensare usually alive with activity during dinner time, as picnic-like tables are set on the grass, while the large banquet table is once again set inside of the cathedral. Danthor (and subsequently any of the new Scarlet trainees) lacked the clout to eat at the banquet table in the cathedral, so he settled for one of the tables next to the fountain just outside of the cathedral because it seemed so peaceful.

While sitting there, Jonas came up from behind him and sat down next to him. "Hey there, Mr. Warrior, how's it goin'?"

Danthor grinned as Balean and Kojak joined the table. "Not bad. I've learned a surprising amount these last two days, actually. How about you?"

Jonas put his two-handed mace on the ground and said, "It's been going great. Mograine's a pretty good paladin, and he's been able to teach me a lot in using the Light to both heal and deal damage to the undead. And he's not so bad with a mace, either."

"I'm sure you had a lot to learn, anyways," remarked Balean. He looked at Danthor and said, "So I hear you're in the same training group as that battle mage. What's that like?"

"Well, we're not exactly in the same training group," Danthor replied. "But she's certainly . . . different from the rest of the crusaders—quiet, reserved, always serious. Why are you so insistent on this subject, anyway?"

Balean laughed as he patted the barking Kojak on the head. "I just find it fascinating that we have such a powerful member in our group—and a woman, no less! I'd like to learn what makes someone like that tick."

"Then go ask her yourself," Jonas said, pointing behind Balean towards Lethella, who was walking across the grass to her own table.

The beastmaster saw her and shrugged, getting ready to stand up. "Alright, just watch me, boys. I'll show you how—"

He shut his mouth and sat back down as soon as he saw High Inquisitor Whitemane step out of the doorway of the Crusader's Chapel. There, she surveyed all of the crusaders out in the garden, preparing to make her speech. She speaks to those outside, Danthor found out, because only the most devout are invited to dine inside the cathedral, and they're not the ones that need a constant reminder of the Light's power and message.

"Good evening, crusaders of the Light," she said. "As usual, I'd like to remind you all of what good you're doing here. Just by serving under the banner of the Crusade, you are bringing hope and joy to so many who have been ravaged by the undead. However, our fight is not over, as the main city of one of our biggest enemies—the Forsaken—lies just a few miles away. The Undercity, as it's called, houses nearly all of the fighting force of these unnatural creatures. And while the Crusade doesn't have enough force to destroy this city and deliver judgment to the Forsaken, we must remain vigilant in body and pure in spirit, as the Light gives salvation to all who serve it."

She paused, looking around the gardens to gauge the reaction of the audience, which was generally positive.

"And of course, our ultimate enemy, the Lich King—lord of the Scourge—is still out there, no doubt plotting how he's going to envelop the world of the living under his shadow. The Crusade must never wane in its goal to finally destroy this abomination, and it's because of all of you that we will soon be able to take the battle to Northrend itself—to the Lich King's very doorstep! So remember this, crusaders: The Light never abandons those who fight for it and fight for righteousness, and believe me, righteousness is coming to all the undead in the land! Now enjoy your food, and thank the Light for its many blessings upon us!"

Whitemane turned back into the cathedral to rejoin her party at the head of the banquet table. Jonas and Balean went to go and get the food being served, and saw that Danthor hadn't moved when they returned.

"What's the matter?" Jonas asked, looking down at Danthor's empty plate.

"It's nothing." Danthor managed a weak smile. "I'm just not feeling very hungry."

Jonas shrugged it off and began eating his own meal, Balean and Kojak doing the same. Danthor found that he was too preoccupied with the high inquisitor's speech regarding righteousness, and Vorrel's subsequent take on the idea. Eventually, he just pushed it out of his mind.

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><p><em>A crack in the armor of righteousness.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	10. An Audience With the Queen

Back to the Forsaken. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>10: An Audience with the Queen<span>**

Anyone passing through Tirisfal Glades who saw the ruins of Lordaeron would most likely think that it was just the war-torn remains of a once-prosperous human city. However, after the Forsaken took the ruins as their home base, they converted its catacombs into their own liking, making it the capital city of the undead who had broken away from the Lich King's will.

Being members of the Forsaken for years, Garomaw, Rammius, and Velonara knew exactly how to navigate the ruins of Lordaeron. Passing through the throne room, they soon reached an elevator guarded by two abominations—massive, ogre-sized undead cobbled together from several different corpses. These Undercity Guardians were also freed from the Lich King's command and now serve the Dark Lady.

The three descended the elevator into the ancient crypts and sewers of Lordaeron. The Undercity itself was divided into four main quarters: the War Quarter, the Magic Quarter, the Rogues' Quarter, and the Apothecarium. The three Forsaken moved quickly through the Apothecarium, so they could move into the final section of the city that could only be accessed by a hallway connected to the Apothecarium: the Royal Quarter.

The red-hooded Forsaken royal guards glanced at the dark ranger and nodded with approval as they passed through, letting them by without any question. The Royal Quarter was a spacious, circular room with a large circular pedestal being placed in the middle of it. This was where Sylvanas Windrunner, Banshee Queen and ruler of the Forsaken, dwelled and passed out her orders.

Upon entering the room, all three of them kneeled in her presence, Garomaw saying, "Dark Lady, we have come here at your request."

Sylvanas, being an undead high elf and dark ranger herself, held several similarities to Velonara. She had pale blue skin, almost as if her body wasn't getting enough oxygen. A dark ranger hood covered her head and obscured her features, but they couldn't hide her glowing red eyes. For a warlord, she certainly didn't wear much when it came to armor. She wore black leather (a standard for dark rangers), decorated with silver designs, that covered her hands, feet, and legs. She wore a matching set of armor to cover her chest, but left her arms and stomach completely exposed, while shoulder pads decorated with tribal war feathers rounded off her design. On her back was a quiver full of arrows, while she always had her main weapon, called the Sunstrider's Longbow, close at hand.

"Indeed you have." Her voice had a powerful echo-like quality to it, almost as if more than one voice was speaking at the same time. "However, I expected you back weeks ago with the good news."

Garomaw looked up at his queen and said, "But, my lady, as you know the Solliden Farmstead was a formidable bastion of humans, even being protected by the Scarlet Crusade. It would have taken much longer if we had declared an all-out siege on them, and there was no guarantee that it would succeed."

"However, I'd like to say that the new plague was a complete success," Rammius added. "It's still a far-cry from what Grand Apothecary Putress would like—being able to resurrect the humans for our cause—but it did its job effectively, killing the humans and leaving the land relatively untainted."

Sylvanas looked at Dark Ranger Velonara, like she only trusted her word on the subject. "And how is the state of our new land?"

"Untouched, except for one burned-down barn," Velonara stated. "Although they weren't the fastest, they certainly did their job effectively, my lady."

Dreadlord Varimathras—one of a demon race characterized by their massive stature, cloven hooves, massive bat-like wings on their backs, and two large, devil-like horns protruding from their forehead—leaned over to Sylvanas and whispered something into her ear. Everyone in the Undercity knew that Varimathras was forced to serve under the Dark Lady when he was cornered with his demon brethren by the Forsaken years ago.

The dreadlord (the actual name of his race being called the Nathrezim), looked at Garomaw and asked, "So who was left to watch over the farmstead while you are here?"

"I left my second-in-command, Lieutenant Sorenson, in charge," answered Garomaw.

"We will send a battalion of troops to secure the farmstead," Sylvanas said. "When there, they will inform Lieutenant Sorenson that he is to take the troops under his command and lay siege the Agamand Mills to the north, killing all Scourge inhabitants and securing that land for the Forsaken."

Garomaw looked a bit confused at this information. "And what about myself?"

"You, Captain Grimhand, will take command of a new battalion and travel to the Balnir Farmstead, just east of here," answered Varimathras. "Your mission there will be to clear the land of the Scourge and claim it for ourselves."

Sylvanas looked at Rammius and Velonara. "Apothecary Rammius and Dark Ranger Velonara will accompany you on this mission."

"Understood," Garomaw said.

"And Captain Grimhand?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"I expect you to be much speedier with this mission than the last one," Sylvanas said.

Garomaw nodded and stood up, adding his deepest bow as well. "Of course, my queen. It shall be done."

With that, the three of them left the Royal Quarter, leaving Sylvanas and her general, Varimathras, to continue discussing the progression of their ultimate plan to rid Tirisfal Glades of the Scarlet Crusade once and for all—culminating with the destruction of the monastery.

— — —

A month passed relatively quickly for Danthor Kurock, who spent his days training tirelessly under the tutelage of Herod, Doan, Loksey, Mograine, and (unfortunately) Vishas.

His training mostly consisted of building off of what his mentors had taught during their first lesson: fighting with a shield and sword under Herod, learning about history and reading several books (which he often did in his barracks at the end of the day) with Doan, shooting a bow with Loksey, learning more basic military tactics the Crusade uses with Mograine, and (once again, unfortunately) learning more interrogation techniques from Vishas.

On the 30th day of training, Herod called all of his trainees together to the Training Grounds. There, he explained that in order to find out how much progress had been made with their training, they were spar with each other once again, much like they did on their placement test. The champion even further explained that if he was able to pair up the same two crusaders to fight, he would do so because it would be easier to notice the difference in their fighting prowess.

And, of course, as fate would have it, Lethella the battle mage was there that day. This wasn't a disappointment to Danthor in any way, as he eagerly saw this as his chance to prove that he was able to beat one of the strongest here.

The fights passed by relatively quickly, and everyone noticed how much stronger the trainees were from the first day they started. Surely that was something that pleased Herod. Then . . .

"Danthor Kurock and Lethella Borman, step forward!"

The two crusaders stood on opposite ends of the Training Grounds, Danthor with a shield on his back and sword at his side while Lethella had a staff strapped to her back and a sword on her hip.

"You remember the rules," Herod said. "You want to show off how much you've improved, but try to not to kill your opponent."

Lethella glared at Danthor, saying, "I can't promise that."

"All we can ask is that you do your best," shot back Danthor mockingly.

"Begin!"

As soon as that word left Herod's mouth, Lethella summoned two fireballs—one in each hand. Without any words between the two, she threw the one in her left hand. Danthor immediately recognized the threat and got out of the way, letting the fireball hit one of the pillars harmlessly. Not two seconds after he moved, though, did Lethella throw the second fireball, this one right at him.

Not able to dodge this one, Danthor quickly took out his shield and dropped to his knees, holding it in front of him. The fireball hit the shield dead on, causing sparks to fly past Danthor's face. Drawing his sword, he stood up and charged towards Lethella, who had summoned two more fireballs.

The first one thrown, Danthor was able to dodge while continue his charge towards her, and the second one he blocked with his shield. He was within striking distance, now, and she was wide open to attack. Letting out a battle cry, he raised his sword up and swung it down.

Lethella quickly drew her own sword and parried the blow, forcing Danthor back a few inches. While he was open, Lethella used her free hand (her left one, actually), to summon another fireball and throw it at Danthor, who summarily blocked it with his shield before rushing towards her to attack.

She parried his sword strike and prepared another fireball in her free hand. Before she could release it, though, Danthor swung his shield directly at her chest. Unguarded, she took the strike dead-on, causing her to grunt, stop the attack, and stumble back a few inches. Danthor took a few cautious steps backwards, not knowing what she was going to do.

_Okay, so you were able to land a blow on her,_ he thought. _Good job, but don't be gettin' cocky yet; she's still extremely dangerous._

Surprisingly, Lethella regained her stance rather quickly and looked at Danthor with gritted teeth. "I seem to have a bad habit of underestimating you, warrior. Looks like you took my advice and took this training seriously."

"What can I say? I guess I just don't like the idea of being beaten by a woman," said Danthor.

Lethella grabbed her staff in her left hand and held out her sword towards Danthor. She was able to channel her fire magic through it, and before long the entire sword started glowing red.

_She's improved, too,_ the warrior thought. _Able to focus her magic into the entire blade now . . ._

"Well I guess I'll have to show you why you'll never be better than me," the battle mage said, striking up a fighting stance.

"Your move."

Lethella moved faster than Danthor anticipated, swinging her fire-enchanted sword towards him. He quickly brought the shield up to block it, but noticed that the fire was quickly transferring to the shield, heating it up. Knocking the sword away, he swung his own towards her, but she was able to block it with her staff. The two were in a deadlock for a few seconds, staring at each other with the intensity of the battle on their mind. Finally, they both took a step back, preparing for another attack.

Then, as if they both sensed each others thoughts, they moved at the same time, each letting loose a battle shout. Neither of them noticed at the time, but the entire audience was captivated by their fight. Lethella swung her heavy iron staff towards Danthor's head, but he was able to dive out of the way and appear at Lethella's side.

She was wide open to attack.

_This is it!_ Danthor thought, roaring and swinging his sword towards her exposed ribcage.

Before he could hit her, Lethella raised her staff and a semi-circle of arcane magic appeared around her. The blast was so powerful that it knocked Danthor a few feet away on his back, hard. What was even worse was that his entire body felt tingly, and he didn't have complete control over it for a few seconds.

"That's a new one . . ." he managed to say.

Lethella grinned. "It's called Arcane Explosion. Pure arcane energy being used with the caster at the center, hitting all who are near them."

Danthor finally managed to stand up, the tingling sensation rapidly fading. He raised his sword and shield and said, "I'll keep that one in mind, like your fire attack last time."

"The Blast Wave, you mean," replied Lethella. "If you're lucky, warrior, you might be able to see it again."

"Oh, let's hope."

With that, he rushed towards her again, moving fast enough to catch her off-guard and nearly cutting her. She was able to bring her sword up, however. It seemed to Danthor that at that moment, pure rage shone through Lethella's eyes, as she was able to summon up the strength to completely knock Danthor's sword-arm down, leaving him open. In a fraction of a second, she was able to swing her own fire-enchanted sword upward, slashing Danthor across his left shoulder, giving him a simultaneous burning feeling (which, ironically, helped seal up the wound).

Danthor cried out and stumbled back a bit, but he refused to give ground. Gritting his teeth, he gripped his sword even harder and brought it crashing down on Lethella, who barely had time to parry the blow. But Danthor simply put more and more strength into it, forcing her back inch-by-inch. He knew that soon she wouldn't be able to hold his sword and he'd be able to get an attack in.

Not willing to let this happen, Lethella raised her staff up and Danthor began to see fire swirl around the red crystal at the tip. _Here comes,_ he thought, getting his shield ready.

"Blast Wave!" Lethella shouted, sending a circular wave of pure fire shooting out at her chest-level. Danthor remembered how it the attack cut his stomach last time, and held his shield right in front of his stomach. He did it just in time, too, as the wave struck the shield and sent him flying onto his back with its power, but otherwise did no damage to him.

He didn't waste any time getting back up, as he stared at the clearly shocked Lethella was grave determination. He _would_ land a hit on her. He'd make sure of it. He rushed towards her again, letting another battle cry tear from his throat. Lethella did the same.

"Enough!"

Both crusaders stopped in their tracks and looked at Herod.

"I said enough," the champion reiterated. "You've both shown your progression just fine. It was a great battle! Now back to the sidelines."

Both the warrior and battle mage sheathed their weapons. Lethella looked at him and said, "I guess we'll have to finish this another time, Danthor."

He nodded, walking in the opposite direction of her, thinking that that was the first time she'd called him by his name. _At least we're getting somewhere,_ he thought with a chuckle. _She now respects me enough to call me by my name . . ._

The rest of the fights went on without incident, and when the last one was finished, Herod called the entire group together.

"That was an excellent display," he said. "Enough to give me hope that you actually are learning something. But let's be honest, you can only learn so much with training exercises inside the monastery. Now it's time to move onto something a little more . . . serious."

"Like what?" Danthor found himself asking out loud.

Herod looked at him and grinned underneath his red helmet. "It's time to get you out training in the field!"

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><p><em>Leaving the monastery for a test!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	11. The Field Test

Another test . . . Enjoy!

**Sorry I couldn't update on Saturday. Something came up.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>11: The Field Test<span>**

The front of the Scarlet Monastery was once again abuzz with the Scarlet recruits, all of them having apparently been summoned to this spot for the so-called "field test" they were about to go through.

The sun was just about setting when Scarlet Commander Mograine and High Inquisitor Whitemane stepped out, flanked by three crusaders, one of them being Captain Melrache, the first man they met at the monastery.

Whitemane examined the twenty-five or so crusaders looking at these leaders expectantly. "No doubt you're all a little confused as to what you're all doing out here. It's been a whole month since you've first stepped through these doors, and it's around this time we like to test all of you as a group."

She glanced over at Mograine, then at the three crusaders on both sides.

"We usually do something different every time, but I'm sure it's no secret to you that the war we're in with the undead here in Tirisfal is starting to heat up, plus we heard that you're all an exceptionally talented bunch, so we've decided to up the ante a bit." She waited for a second, sweeping her head back and forth between the crowd. "We're going to split you up into three groups and have you each conquer three different territories controlled by our enemies."

The group immediately broke into conversation over this new turn of events. It went on for a few seconds before Mograine said in a booming voice: "Silence!"

"Thank you," Whitemane said. "We have Captains Melrache, Vachon, andPerrinehere to lead you, so don't worry. Take as much time as you need to scout, plan, and eventually conquer these areas. I don't think I need to tell you that this is no game, and people can get killed if they're careless. What's most important is to remember and utilize the skills we've taught you. Do that, and you'll turn out alright. Now listen up for the captains to call out the names of who's in their groups."

Captain Melrache stepped forward and said, "My name's Melrache, and my group will be conquering the territory known as Venomweb Vale just south of here. We've gotten a call from our lieutenant based there that a large group of poisonous spiders have made their home there, and they seem to be following the command of their brood-mother, Sri'skulk. Our job is to get there, clear out the spiders, and kill their matriarch."

He called out about eight names, none of which Danthor recognized. Afterwards, a man with light-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and a full beard stepped forward. "My name is Captain Perrine, and the area in question we'll be conquering is known as the Balnir Farmstead, which is a little further south past the Venomweb Vale. The land is covered in vengeful spirits and undead loyal to the Scourge, under the command of a creature only known as Fellicent's Shade. Our job is to slay their leader and clear out the plagued lands, so we can begin our job of making it a new Scarlet outpost."

He called eight more names, which, once again, Danthor didn't recognize. Jonas (who was standing next to him—the two naturally getting together when meeting outside) nudged Danthor and said, "Looks like we're in this together."

Finally, the last captain, a man with shoulder-length, light-brown hair that was swept back, and an unshaven face, stepped forward. "My name's Captain Vachon, and my group will be conquering the lands to the west of us known as Garren's Haunt. It's a rather large farmstead that was taken over by undead gnolls working for the Scourge. Their leader, Maggot Eye, is the prime target."

He called Lethella's name first, Jonas and Balean's in the middle, and Danthor's dead last. They all group together, and with that, the three groups were made, ready to go out on their first major field test.

"Good luck everyone," Mograine said. "Just remember what we taught you, and to the Crusade proud!"

As everyone was departing, Vachon pointed into the direction they were going and said, "Alright, everyone, form up and follow me. Our destination is the farthest away, so let's not waste any time."

The group formed together (there were nine altogether) and followed Vachon's lead to the west.

— — —

Captain Vachon clearly wasn't kidding when he said their destination was the farthest away, as they'd been walking for thirty minutes straight and they could only just now see the outline of the farm in the distance. To the groups right was the sea, while to their left was a large lake with an island in the middle of it called theBrightwaterLake.

Kojak was happily trotting alongside Balean as he looked at both Jonas and Danthor, saying, "Man, we really _did_ luck out with the groupings. Who would've thought we'd all get in the same mission?" He looked ahead and saw Lethella, and added with a whispered voice, "And with the battle mage, to boot."

Jonas shrugged. "It probably won't be too bad, but you're right, it is a strange luck that brought us together."

"It had nothing to do with luck," Vachon said from the front, apparently hearing the conversation. "We've been evaluating you for a month now, and after assessing your strengths and weaknesses, compiled a list of who we think the strongest in the bunch is, and grouped you all together in that regard, giving the weakest group the easiest mission. Can you guess which group we are?"

"The strongest?" asked a hesitant Jonas.

Vachon held his index finger up, saying, "Ding, correct! Melrache has got the weakest group to conquer the Venomweb Vale, whilePerrine's group is right in the middle. The only reason our destination is harder to conquer than theirs is because these undead gnolls are vicious little buggers, ripping any live meat they see to shreds before eating it."

"Sounds great," muttered Balean.

"What's even more is that the _order_ in which we called your name matters too," Vachon said. "The strongest being called first and weakest being called last. Get it?"

Jonas nodded. "Yeah. I was somewhere in the middle, right . . . ?"

"I think I was too," added Balean.

"I was last."

Vachon, Jonas, and Balean looked back to see Danthor. The captain tried his best to put on a grin and said, "Don't sweat it. Apparently you're still better than the other groups, so take that as you want."

"Yeah," Danthor said with a nod. It was then that he noticed Vachon was equipped with a one-handed rapier and shield. He wondered mentally if he could ask him for some tips regarding his type of fighting style.

"So what can you tell us about our enemy?" Lethella asked.

Vachon looked up at the night sky and said, "Well, they're gnolls, so they're relatively small and bulky with sharp fangs, claws, and usually blunt weapons. They were once just a wild tribe in Tirisfal, but then they were killed and raised into undeath by the Scourge. Led by their leader, Maggot Eye, they eventually found the abandoned Garren's Haunt and took up residence there, calling themselves the Rot Hide clan."

"What are their battle capabilities?" the battle mage persisted.

Vachon couldn't help but chuckle as he ran a hand through his hair. "Let's just say we've known about them for a long time and have wanted that land for ourselves for just as long, yet we still don't have it."

"Could you be a bit more specific?"

"Well aren't you a go-getter?" joked the captain.

"I like this guy," whispered Balean to Jonas with a grin.

Vachon held out his hand and started counting on his fingers, saying, "The clan's got bruisers, brutes, and savages for their melee force; mystics and plagueweavers for their magical force; graverobbers and gladerunners as their reconnaissance and scouting forces; and mongrels to fill in the rest. Happy?"

"Look, you may not be putting much effort into this mission succeeding, _captain_, but I actually want to achieve our goal, and I thought maybe we'd all benefit from a little information before we go blindly charging into battle," Lethella said harshly. She then managed a twisted smile. (_She doesn't seem used to using those muscles too often,_ Danthor thought). "Thank you, though."

Vachon just shrugged it off. "You're welcome. You're the famed battle mage I've been hearing about, right?"

"Yes."

"Well you're certainly living up to your reputation; I just hope you can keep it up. Now everyone keep quiet, we're starting to enter into their territory."

BrightwaterLakewas a little behind them now, and as soon as Vachon said those words, everyone could immediately notice the difference. The land started to get hillier, and the grass around them was dead. The farm was a bit clearer in their vision now, with a small set of mountains a bit further behind that.

There were a few scattering bushes here and there, but other than that, the nine crusaders were completely out in the open. That's why, after a few more minutes of walking, Vachon held both his arms out wide to stop the group, whispering, "Shh!"

The group stopped and looked. Ahead of them was a series of scattered dug up holes, resembling graves. A group of Rot Hide gnolls (at least twenty of them) were there, a few sitting around a shoddily-made campfire, while a few were off by the graves, using some dark magic that was being channeled into the holes.

"The mystics are able to resurrect their dead comrades into undead, like them," whispered Vachon.

As soon as he said that, a gnoll rose from the grave, the flesh on his face rotting, but he was very clearly alive again. He let out a little howl at the mystic, as if asking him what was happening. The mystic motioned to the campfire behind him, and the newly-undead gnoll got out of his grave and began walking towards it.

"There's no cover around here, captain," one of the crusaders said quietly. "We've got nowhere to hide."

"You think I don't know that?" replied a clearly-annoyed Vachon. "We've just gotta keep goin' and hope they don't see us 'til it's too late."

A Rot Hide mystic looked up from the grave he was nearby and saw the group of crusaders. He stood there, motionless, for what seemed like an eternity, and it was at that moment that Danthor got his first good look at a gnoll. They were about half the height of a human, but were incredibly bulky for their size. They had the heads of hyenas attached to a humanoid, two-legged body with paws for hands and feet. The mystics wore rotting clothing and a dark hood to cover their face. The only thing Danthor could think of was if a stout dog learned to walk on two legs.

The mystic continued to just stare with its glassy eyes. Vachon glanced at the group behind him and whispered, "Don't . . . move. It may be looking at something else."

The mystic raised its head up to the sky and let out a chilling howl, alerting the attention of all the other gnolls in the area, who looked and immediately saw the bold, red colors of the Scarlet Crusade tabard. Upon seeing live humans, the gnolls all grabbed their weapons and started snarling, running headlong towards them.

"Ah hell," Vachon said, drawing his rapier and shield. "Guess we have no other choice. Kill them all!"

Balean was the first to act, aiming his crossbow and firing, hitting the mystic who alerted the group right in his head, dropping him to the floor immediately. "Kojak, go!" he said, as his dog let out a gleeful bark and ran towards the oncoming Rot Hide clan.

Vachon led the charge, letting out a roar and rushing headlong towards the fastest of the gnolls. Within the span of a few seconds, he was able stab a gnoll in the chest with his rapier and smash the other two with his shield quickly and effectively, dropping all three of them.

Encouraged by this display of skill, the rest of the crusaders drew their weapons and charged. Lethella was the first to go, drawing her fire-enchanted sword and slashing the nearest mystic before summoning a fireball and throwing it in its face to make sure it was dead.

Jonas and Danthor stuck together, each with their weapons drawn. Three gnolls surrounded them, all of them wearing rusted chainmail with one wielding blunt club, one a rusted sword, and one just showing off his fearsome claws and fangs. Danthor assumed these were the Rot Hide brutes, bruisers, and savages that Vachon had described.

Jonas smiled, saying to his companion, "Ready?"

Danthor nodded, and with that they teamed-up back to back and started to attack. The gnoll with the mace (Danthor assumed he was the bruiser) rushed towards Danthor, swinging it without much skill. He was able to block the strike and slash the gnoll across his exposed chest. He took a few steps back, howled, and rushed toward, once again swinging his mace. The warrior easily blocked the bruiser's strike and ran him through with his sword, causing the gnoll to stagger away from the sword and fall over, dead.

The gnoll with the sword (the brute) and the gnoll with his claws and fangs (the savage) tried to team up on Jonas. The brute rushed forward first, attempting to stab the paladin. He was able to knock the dagger away completely, and without wasting a movement, clout the gnoll in the side of his head, dropping him to the floor instantly. The savage didn't seem discouraged and leapt towards Jonas, but he quickly held his hand out as it started to glow with the power of the Light. Before the savage could hit him, a bright light slashed him across the chest, stopping him in his tracks and causing him to writhe around in pain.

"The undead hate the power of the Light," Jonas said to Danthor, who watched with disbelief. "I guess it does prove that they serve the Scourge after all."

Both of them heard a large roar, and looked to see Lethella standing there, completely surrounded by gnolls, raising her staff. Invoking the power of fire, she shot a blast wave out, hitting all the gnolls at once and instantly killing them.

With that final act, there was only one gnoll left. A smaller-than-average gnoll who seemed to have no weapons on him other than a bow. Upon seeing his comrades be killed, he dropped the bow and began to run. Due to his unusually fast speed, Danthor assumed he was a gladerunner—the scouts of the Rot Hide clan.

"Stop him, someone!" Vachon yelled.

Balean was on it, aiming his crossbow and shooting an arrow in a split second. The shaft flew and struck the gnoll dead in his back. He let out a brief whimper before falling over, dead.

Vachon looked around to see his crusaders victorious in their battle, inspecting the ground to make sure there were no human corpses. There weren't.

Sheathing his weapons, he moved towards the still-burning campfire and said, "Group up over here and get some rest. With luck, the rest of the clan didn't hear the fight. Regardless, we'll have a few go scout the area out while the rest wait here."

"Rest now?" asked an incredulous Lethella, full of battle lust and not thinking as calmly as before. "We just scored a major blow. I say we keep going while we still can and annihilate them all in one fell swoop."

Vachon looked at the battle mage and said with a commanding tone, "That wasn't a suggestion—it was an order. Now sit, crusader, while a few go and scout the area out!"

Not expecting such a forceful command, Lethella went towards the campfire with everyone else and sat down.

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><p><em>Resting while they can . . . uncertainty on the horizon.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	12. Razing the Rot Hide

The attack of Garren's Haunt! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>12: Razing the Rot Hide<span>**

Balean and a Scarlet protector were the two chosen to go and scout out Garren's Haunt while the remaining seven crusaders (including Vachon) sat down near the campfire. It seemed Lethella had calmed down some, because she was now no longer rearing to go headlong into territory they weren't sure about, so she just sat silently and waited with the rest of the group.

Captain Vachon was lying on his back, looking up at the night sky. He was lazily flipping a dagger he brought with him up and down, letting it twirl a bit in the air before skillfully catching it by the handle. Danthor was sitting close to the captain when he eyed Vachon's shield lying next to him.

"You're skilled with a shield," he said.

Vachon caught the dagger and looked towards Danthor. "Hmm?"

"You were able to kill two gnolls by just hitting them with your shield," reiterated the warrior. "As someone who uses a shield as well, I couldn't help but notice how skilled you are with yours."

Vachon grinned wolfishly. "A shield can be a powerful defending and attacking weapon, if you know how to use them right."

"Yeah," Danthor said. "I've been practicing trying to use a shield as a weapon, but I can never land a powerful enough hit."

Lethella scoffed at this comment.

Vachon sat up and put his dagger back into his belt. He picked up the shield and tossed it at Danthor, who was barely able to catch it. "Show me what you can do then."

The two stood up and took a few steps away from the campfire, everyone else watching their every move. The captain drew his rapier and tossed it back and forth between hands.

"Pretend I'm attacking you," he said. "Then show me how you'd completely beat me by just using a shield."

Danthor nodded. Vachon attacked, sword in hand.

He was able to block the first strike, then the second. When the third strike came, he pushed back, throwing Vachon's arm backwards and leaving his chest open to attack. Danthor took that moment to launch the shield forward, hitting the captain square in the chest.

Vachon stumbled a few steps then regained his ground. "Not bad, but your technique needs a bit of work. Here, give me the shield."

Danthor tossed it back to the captain, who caught it perfectly. He held the shield out right in front of him, twisting his body to the side and planting his feet firmly on the ground.

"The most important thing is the stance," he explained. "If you don't have a solid foundation, you won't be able to deliver a strong enough attack to do anything. Remember, the goal of hitting them with a shield is to knock them to the ground, hopefully breaking a few ribs. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Try it with your own shield, then. Mimic my stance."

Danthor copied Vachon's stance and held the shield out. The captain walked towards Danthor's side, gripping his arm holding the shield.

"When you have this stance, you thrust your arm out in one swift motion, like so." He pulled Danthor's arm out, bringing the shield forward. Vachon released his grip and stepped away, letting the warrior try it again, this time at full speed.

The shield shot out quickly and precisely, the air making a whooshing noise as it happened. Vachon clapped his hands and moved back towards Danthor, who released his stance and stood at ease.

"Good, good," he said. He held his own shield out again and flailed his arm backwards, causing the shield to strike the air directly behind him. "If you can't get in the proper stance, just putting all your strength into it might do the trick. Also don't forget to utilize the bottom of the shield. Hitting an opponent with that point would do some serious damage."

He moved his arm like he was elbowing someone to his side, causing the shield to strike the air horizontally, its sharpened point at the bottom sticking out right at the front of the attack.

"Thanks," Danthor said, smiling as he placed his shield onto his back.

Vachon did the same. "Don't mention it. You're not bad kid—you were picked to be on this group for a reason, you know."

Jonas caught a glance at Lethella, who turned her head away with seeming disgust. "Not bad, kid," he said as Danthor sat back down. "Your training's really paying off, it seems."

Danthor was about to speak, but he heard a barking sound in the distance. Everyone turned to see Balean and the protector coming back, Kojak trotting happily along the beastmaster's side. Vachon stood back up and approached the two. "So what's the report?"

"The land consists of a farmhouse, a barn, a few of silos, and a large field, sir," the protector said, saluting. "There are Rot Hide gnolls all over the place, seemingly of every variety—brutes, mystics, gladerunners . . ."

"Any sign of Maggot Eye?"

"We were able to spot a rather large gnoll surrounded by companions at a run-down house by the coast," Balean answered. "He was wielding a rather primitive stone club."

"That's him," Vachon said. "So how many gnolls would you say are out there?"

Balean let loose a drawn-out breath, running a hand through his blonde hair. "I'd say at least thirty, and that's in the immediate vicinity. There's probably even more around the actual farmstead itself."

"We can clear them out later. What's important is killing Maggot Eye," Vachon said. He motioned for the group near the campfire to come towards him, which they did. He pulled out a map and laid it on the floor. On it was a somewhat professionally drawn map of Tirisfal Glades. He pointed to the section labeled Garren's Haunt. "We're not getting to Maggot Eye without clearing every gnoll in sight. So I propose a pincer movement to clear the field of them as fast as possible. I'll take three crusaders with me and attack from the north, while the other five attack from the south."

He pointed to the map to reinforce his point.

"We'll start on the road adjacent to the haunt," he said, "and hopefully catch them by surprise, sweeping through the field before they know what hit them."

"So who's gonna be in what group?" Jonas asked.

"I'll lead the second group," Lethella said quickly.

Vachon rolled up the map and stood back up. "No, I think our two scouts should lead the second group, since they'll be more familiar with the landscape. You can back the second group up, though."

Lethella looked at Balean, who shrugged and said, "Sorry, looks like you're stuck with me." Kojak barked happily.

As luck would have it (and it certainly was luck this time), Danthor, Jonas, Balean, Lethella, and the Scarlet protector who helped Balean scout the area out were in group two, while Vachon took the three remaining crusaders with him for his own group.

"I'd like to reiterate we really have no strategy here," Vachon said before they separated. "Just try and attack at the same time, and kill every gnoll in sight . . . Oh, and don't get killed, either."

Jonas sighed. "Truly you're an inspiration to us all, captain."

Vachon grinned in return. "The attack signal will be a rather noticeable whistling sound. Find some cover and wait to hear that. Then it's time to raise some hell."

"Well let's go then," Lethella said, breaking away and leading group two.

"Good luck, we'll all certainly need it . . ." Vachon said before walking in the opposite direction with his own group.

— — —

There was a rather large group of bushes on the side of the road that ran just to the right of Garren's Haunt, and group two was able to comfortably hide behind it. From their position, they were able to get a good look at the group of undead gnolls. They were varied from savages all the way to plagueweavers, and most of them spent their time moving around the large field that no doubt used to bear a beautiful crop.

"The hell are they doing?" asked Danthor.

"Looks like digging," Jonas answered.

Balean shifted his weight slightly. "Digging for what? There's nothing under there."

"For more corpses to resurrect, I'm sure," Lethella said. "Yeah, there's probably not any down there, but do these gnolls strike you as particularly intelligent?"

"Good point," said Danthor.

Jonas strained his eyes and looked around. "So where's Maggot Eye?"

"He's in that house all the way back there," the protector said, pointing in its direction.

Balean let out a small whistle. "That's a lotta ground to cover to get there, and a lotta gnolls to get through."

"Only a coward would fear such a pitiful fighting force," Lethella stated.

"The hell was that?" Balean turned around to look directly at the battle mage, Kojak mimicking his movement.

"I said only weaklings would fear this pack of idiots," repeated Lethella.

"Why you little—"

Danthor put his hand on Balean's shoulder and said, "Let's just calm down. This is no time to be fighting amongst ourselves."

"Wise words, Danthor," Lethella said, looking back out towards the field. "Let's focus on how we're gonna attack this group."

"A clean sweep down the line seems like the best option," Jonas said. "No time for that back-to-back shit. Just gotta spread out and take 'em all down."

"For once I agree." The battle mage drew her sword, grinning maliciously.

The sound was silent and the mood anxious. The gnolls continued going about their business, occasionally arguing with each other in their guttural language and getting into a few small fights. Finally, the sound came—a strangely lilting whistle that caught everyone's attention immediately.

Lethella stood up and drew her staff in her free hand. Pointing her sword at the unsuspecting gnolls, looking upwards to see where the sound was coming from, she yelled, "Charge!"

Group two drew their weapons and charged from their hiding spot, throwing themselves head-first into the pack of undead beasts. Lethella was (of course) the first on the battle, cutting down the nearest brute she saw and throwing a fireball through her staff at a plagueweaver nearby.

Jonas gripped his mace tightly and clouted an unsuspecting mystic right in his head, drawing blood and killing him instantly. Before he knew it, three more gnolls came upon him, and he struck two of them down just as quickly, employing the power of the Light on the third.

Balean killed two (a gladerunner and mongrel) immediately with two skillful shots of his crossbow. He let out a whistle and Kojak ran towards the enemies with a growl, throwing himself onto a Rot Hide graverobber and ripping out its throat.

Danthor found himself faced with a brute, mongrel, and a mystic. The brute shoved the Rot Hide mongrel—a noticeably smaller undead gnoll equipped with a rusted dagger—towards Danthor, and he snarled half-heartedly, raising his weapon. He was killed almost instantly as Danthor ran his blade across his chest. The brute moved next, swinging his sword unskillfully towards the warrior, who parried it and was able to knock the sword away, followed by quickly stabbing the unarmed gnoll.

The mystic was making a few low-sounding chants, his hands glowing with lightning. Danthor noticed just in time as the gnoll threw a lightning bolt at him. He was able to dive out of the way, recover, and slit the creature's throat before he had a chance to attack again.

Danthor looked and saw Captain Vachon's group attacking a similarly unprepared group of gnolls from the north, slowly making their way to the middle. He looked around his section of the battlefield and saw all of his companions fighting the gnolls off well, so far none dead. He then looked at Lethella, who was surrounded by at least ten. She dispatched of them with an Arcane Explosion, but turned around at an inopportune moment as one of the injured gnolls stood back up.

"Lethella, look out!" he yelled, catching the battle mage's attention.

She looked confused and turned her head, seeing the mongrel there with his dagger in hand, ready to sink it into her back. Before he could, though, an arrow buried itself into the side of his head, causing his eyes to roll back before he tottered over, dead. Lethella looked to see Balean a good distance away, his crossbow recently discharged. He gave her one deadpanned look before moving on.

Their group continued fighting their way through the field; hacking, beating, and shooting their way through. Before long, they met up with Vachon's group at the middle, who was fending off the last large group of gnolls left.

The two groups came together, matching up back-to-back to fight off the remaining gnolls. Danthor got paired up with Vachon, who looked at him as he stabbed a gnoll and said, "We lost one of ours in the fight, how's your end?"

Danthor touch his arm, feeling a wound he got from one of the brutes, and said, "We got a few injuries, but no deaths so far."

"Good, don't lose your focus now."

Danthor nodded as he hacked and slashed at the closest gnoll he saw . . .

The battle was finished relatively quickly as soon as they formed up, the last gnoll being slain by the Scarlet protector. They only lost one crusader in the battle. Vachon sheathed his weapon and pointed to the house with a shut door near the northern shore.

"Maggot Eye probably knows we're here and is barricading himself in," he said.

"Of course he is," responded Balean. "He had that door wide open when we were scouting. How else do you think we saw him?"

Lethella sheathed her sword and staff and stepped forward, saying, "Regardless, we're gonna have to get past that door."

Vachon's eyes lit up as he saw her step forward. "I'm sure it's nothing a well-placed fireball can't take down."

Lethella grinned wickedly. "I suppose. Only one way to find out."

The group made their way towards the house and stopped a few feet away from the door. "You said he had a few guards with him, right?" Vachon asked.

Balean and the protector nodded.

"Alright, listen, as soon as we bust down that door, I'll lead the charge in there. Be as loud as possible to scare them, and we'll have a chance of killing them in close quarters. Got it?"

The seven crusaders nodded.

Vachon turned to Lethella. "Do it."

"With pleasure." She summoned a fireball in her hand and threw it at the closed door. The impact was strong enough to have the door fly off its hinges, exposing the rotting interior of the room and two of the gnolls.

"For the Crusade!" Vachon cried, drawing his rapier and shield and rushing forth, everyone else following him.

The first gnoll he saw was able to slash Vachon in his leg, but eventually fell to his sword. This gave the crusaders the opening to pile into the relatively small farmhouse. There were three other gnolls in the house, with Maggot Eye in the very back, snarling and barking out orders.

Danthor was able to make his way through the fighting and straight to the leader, who brandished his stone mace fiercely. With a cry of battle, Danthor rushed at his opponent, his sword raised high. He was able to dig his sword into Maggot Eye's unarmored shoulder, but much to his surprise, he was unable to pull his sword back out.

Maggot Eye let out a howl, but returned to his senses relatively quickly, slamming his mace into Danthor's unprotected ribcage on the right side of his chest. The blow knocked the wind out of him and caused him to buckle to his knees. He tried desperately to get the sword out, but found that it just wouldn't go. Maggot Eye was fine with that, as he let out a twisted grin and raised his mace, intent on bringing it down on Danthor's head.

A fireball flew right past Danthor's head and struck Maggot Eye right in the face, causing him to fly against the wall and land on the floor with a dull thud, his mace dropping harmlessly by his side. Strangely enough, the force was so powerful that Danthor's sword was ripped free from the gnoll's carcass.

He looked behind himself to see Lethella standing there, her arm outstretched and smoking from the attack she just released. Their eyes met for a few seconds, and Danthor smiled. "Thanks."

Lethella only nodded before turning around to let Vachon and the others (who had easily dispatched the other three gnolls) know of the news . . .

After a few minutes, the group met back outside. Captain Vachon confirmed the body of Maggot Eye and had rallied the crusaders together to inform them. "Good job, everyone. I must say, with only nine men, we were able to conquer an area that has eluded the Crusade's capture for months now. You truly are a talented bunch, but we're not out of the woods yet. There are still gnolls in the area, but they're of little threat without a leader. We'll send in a full battalion of crusaders tomorrow to clean up the rest."

The Scarlet protector looked at the captain and said, "So are we going to be staying here until mor—"

He couldn't get any farther as an arrow buried itself into his throat. He dropped to the floor, raised his hands into the air, let out a brief gargling noise, then died.

"Find cover!" Vachon ordered.

The group saw that the culprit was a single Rot Hide gladerunner, a rotting bow in his hand. He let out a howl and began to sprint away onto the road leading west to the Agamand Mills. Danthor immediately took off after him, weapons in hand. Vachon called after him, with Jonas and Balean quickly giving him chase.

The road took them in-between two large mountains. Danthor was about halfway through the mountain path when he heard the gladerunner let out a howling cry. He slowed his pace, moving cautiously and gripping his aching and wounded side. When he was far enough, he peeked around to see the clearing and the Agamand Mills, a small, rotting farm characterized by three broken down windmills. Undead corpses (some wearing Forsaken tabards, he could see) littered the ground.

He looked a bit further to see the corpse of the Rot Hide gladerunner, with four Forsaken soldiers standing over him. Behind them were about fifteen more soldiers. Drawing himself back, he tried to listen to what one was saying (they were speaking in Gutterspeak), and could only make out one person's name—Lieutenant Sorenson.

Sheathing his weapons, he quickly ran back through the mountain path towards Garren's Haunt, intent on letting his crusaders know of the new situation at hand.

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><p><em>A new emergency!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	13. Ambush at the Mountain Path

The Forsaken are on their way! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>13: Ambush at the Mountain Path<span>**

He made it halfway through the mountain path before catching up to Jonas and Balean. The two immediately rushed to his aid, bombarding him with questions.

"Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

Danthor held his knees and was breathing heavily. A sudden pain raced up the side of his body, causing him to grip the wound at once. Sprinting at full speed after a gnoll didn't help the wound he gained from Maggot Eye, that was for sure. After a few seconds, he caught his breath enough to speak to his friends:

"Gotta get back to camp now . . . I'll explain there."

The two understood and helped Danthor along the mountain path, back towards Garren's Haunt. When he got back, the four crusaders who stayed behind immediately rushed to Danthor's side, asking a flurry of questions as he dropped down to his knees to rest.

Finally, Vachon said to the others, "Shut up! Stop asking him your stupid questions!" He kneeled down and asked the warrior, "Take your time. Tell us what happened."

He'd regained his breath enough to speak complete sentences now. "I chased the gnoll down the path there. When I came to the other end, though, I saw a destroyed farm—"

"That's Agamand Mills," Vachon said.

"—that was littered with undead corpses, both Forsaken and Scourge alike. It looked like the gnoll was killed by a group of about twenty Forsaken."

"By the Light . . ." muttered the captain.

Danthor nodded. "What's even worse is that they looked like they were getting ready to take the path towards us."

"And I bet they wouldn't be too happy to see the Crusade around here," Jonas said. "Right after we've just secured the Haunt, too . . ."

"What should we do, captain?" asked Balean.

Vachon stood back up and turned his back on everyone, surveying the new land they had lost two crusaders to in trying to secure it. It would be painful to abandon what they worked so hard to get, but twenty Forsaken troops on the way? By the Light, they'd have to . . .

"Pack up, we're heading back to the monastery."

"What?" everyone seemed to say at once.

Vachon didn't look like he was in the mood to argue. "You heard me. We have seven tired and wounded crusaders here, going against twenty fresh Forsaken troops. We wouldn't stand a chance. We may lose the land to them, but we can always come back and—"

"So what? We took down at least thirty gnolls with only nine!" The voice belonged to Lethella, who looked aghast at the order.

Vachon turned to the battle mage. "Need I remind you that we're not dealing with mindless beasts here! The Forsaken were able to break away from the Lich King's grasp and are infinitely more intelligent, organized, and powerful. We'd get slaughtered."

Lethella shook her head and held her arms out wide, saying, "We've just secured this land in the name of the Crusade, and I'm sure as hell not about to give it up, especially to any Forsaken filth! I say we fight and kill them all. That way we've secured two territories for the Crusade instead of abandoning one!"

There was a murmur amongst the group, some arguing for fighting and some against. "This is no time to be idiotic," Vachon said. "We can always reclaim these territories later."

"When?" she asked. "When the Forsaken have taken it for themselves and fortified it beyond penetration? No, as a member of the Scarlet Crusade I refuse to yield any ground to the undead. We should fight with the Light on our side, purging this land of all who reek of undeath!"

At this point, Danthor rose up and stood next to the battle mage. "I'm with Lethella," he proclaimed.

"What?" Vachon cried. Lethella looked just as surprised.

"Regardless of what we do, the Forsaken are coming this way," the warrior said. "Now we can either stand and fight with the Light as our ally, or turn tail and never be able to restore Tirisfal to its former glory. No, I'd rather give the Forsaken a tough time taking this land than just let them waltz in and reclaim it with all the work done for them."

Jonas was grinning at this turn of events, and went to join Danthor, saying, "Ah hell, I'd rather die than live with the thought of us giving the Forsaken an easy victory. I'm with you, too."

"Whaddya say, Kojak?" Balean asked his companion. "Do ya wanna help fight off the undead with us?"

Kojak barked merrily, his tail wagging.

Balean looked at Vachon and shrugged. "I guess that means I'm in too." He walked over to go join his friends.

"We'll be killed easily," Vachon persisted.

Danthor shook his head. "Not when we have the element of surprise and preparation. The mountain path they're taking is pretty compact, narrow—you couldn't have more than three people walking side-by-side. We can wait at the mouth of the road and ambush them just as they're coming out. We'd be able to kill a good five before they knew what was happening, and by then we could win."

"What do you say, captain?" Jonas asked. "Think of the impact this victory would have for the Crusade? We'd be one step closer to taking the Undercity."

Vachon ran a hand through his hair, grinning in a way a man who had just lost his mind would have. "You guys are crazy, you know that? But I guess we all have to be a little crazy to join the Crusade. Alright, fine! We'll secure two territories, or die trying. May the Light protect us all . . ."

The four crusaders cheered at this, and preparations were made immediately. Danthor took Balean and Vachon aside and pointed to the two mountains surrounding the path, asking the hunter, "You think you can climb those and get a good vantage point?"

Balean's lips parted into a grin when he realized what he was talking about. Grabbing his crossbow, he said, "Aye, I think I can handle it, though I could do with some extra support. One of the other crusaders here is good with a bow—I've seen him in action myself." He pointed to a Scarlet gallant.

Vachon called the gallant over, who quickly saluted. The captain nodded and asked, "What is your name, crusader?"

"Myles Sharn, sir."

"I hear you're pretty handy with a bow and arrow."

"Houndmaster Loksey has thought so on more than a few occasions," Myles said.

Vachon put his hand on the gallant's shoulder. "Good! You'll be accompanying Balean here to give us some support, then."

Myles nodded. "Yes, sir."

Danthor looked at Balean and smiled. "Time to show your stuff."

Balean looked down at Kojak and said, "Take care of Kojak while I'm up there, alright?"

Danthor patted the dog on the head, saying, "Of course."

— — —

Lieutenant Sorenson got the news to move out of the Solliden Farmstead with his men when an entire battalion of Forsaken troops came in and told him, bearing orders from the Dark Lady herself, that they were to now occupy the farm and he was to take his remaining troops to conquer the Agamand Mills.

_"Do it, and there's likely a promotion in line for you,"_ the Forsaken soldier had said to him.

The idea of moving up to the rank of a captain excited Sorenson very much. It's not that he minded serving under Captain Grimhand or anything, it was just that he had his own ambitions that would eventually take him to the top and serve as Sylvanas's general (a position he would delight in stealing from Varimathras).

He took his forty or so troops and marched them to Agamand Mills, where they were ordered to lay waste to all the Scourge who inhabited it. The undead Agamand family—all four of them—turned out to be smarter than he anticipated, and they held onto their farm valiantly as Sorenson laid siege to it. Finally, in the third week, the last spirit fell, and the Forsaken were victorious.

Sorenson lost twenty troops in that conflict, but it was to be somewhat expected. After all, Agamand Mills had eluded their capture for years, but now it was finally there. Content with his victory, Sorenson sent out one of his scouts with news of his victory. He returned a few days later and informed the lieutenant that he was to take his remaining men and travel east to conquer Garren's Haunt, a land ruled by the Rot Hide clan.

_"Who will defend the Mills?"_ Sorenson had asked.

_"The Dark Lady said she will send troops in a few days to fortify it,"_ the scout had replied. _"She said not to worry about it, as no one was likely to take the lands back before they got here. Oh, and she said for me to tell you one more thing, sir."_

_"Yes?"_

_"She said: 'Good luck, captain.' "_

Sorenson's grin widened, revealing his rotting teeth. He was no longer a lieutenant, but now Captain Sorenson. He liked the ring to that, and the idea spurred him on to start getting his troops ready to move—they would march at daybreak.

He led his twenty or so troops from the back as they moved through the narrow mountain path. Every book on military strategy Sorenson had ever read told him that the commanding officer should always be in the back in case anything happens. Not that he expected anything bad to happen. The killing of that gnoll at the beginning of the trek had only been a fluke, nothing more.

They were very near the mouth of the path, and Sorenson was happy about it. Something about being surrounded by mountains made him uneasy. It was like anything could happen—a rockslide, for example. He pushed those thoughts aside. Besides, once he got out of the path he could assess the Haunt as his leisure and formulate a perfect battle strategy, like a good captain would. Hell, he'd probably even be promoted for this victory. He liked the thought of being ranked higher than Garomaw and his—

The first troops were about to break through the smothering mountains to a much wider path when they heard a high-pitch whistle that sounded out of place. Not two seconds after, two Forsaken soldiers dropped dead from arrows.

"For the Crusade!" Vachon yelled, drawing his weapon and charging from his hiding spot right on the side of the path. This was followed by the screams of several more crusaders.

Two more soldiers were shot with arrows before the crusaders clashed with the Forsaken at the mouth of the mountain path. The first three troops were cut down before they could even draw their weapons, and with that seven of the twenty soldiers were killed. The odds were looking a lot better now.

"Ambush!" Sorenson yelled, drawing his claymore. "Draw your weapons and repel the invaders!"

The troops were bottlenecked at the path, and spreading out to fight was impossible, but they still drew their weapons and fought the charging and zealous crusaders.

Danthor, Lethella, and Vachon made up the front fighting force, and they struck quickly and accurately, Lethella using her magic to her advantage in such close quarters, yet still hacking and slashing every Forsaken troop in her way. Meanwhile, arrows continued to rain overhead from Balean and Myles.

When half of his fighting force was gone, Sorenson pushed his way to the front lines, cutting down a Scarlet guardsman on his way. His troops were confused and demoralized, unable to take out the archers overhead and unable to stop the fury and tenacity of the crusaders plowing through them and using their enclosed space to their advantage.

There were only about five troops left when Sorenson made it to the front, swinging his claymore with deadly accuracy. Both Danthor and Vachon fought him together, skillfully blocking his strikes and slowly pushing him back. When it was clear they had lost, Sorenson worked himself into a frenzy and swung his sword wildly at the two, hoping to cut their human heads off.

Due to his rage, there was a split second where he left his chest completely exposed, raising his sword up high and yelling something incomprehensible. Seeing the opportunity, both Danthor and Vachon slashed the newly-appointed captain across his chest in an X shape, causing him to drop onto his back.

The ambush had worked.

"Victory!" Vachon cried, as all six of them burst out into a cheer . . .

While Balean and Myles were making their way back towards the path, the crusaders counted their losses. Only one guardsman was killed for their twenty soldiers. Not a bad ratio, Jonas pointed out.

It seems they miscounted the number of slain Forsaken, though, as Captain Sorenson was still very much alive. Injured and bleeding, true, but alive, and there was no way in hell he'd return to Sylvanas in shame, especially so soon after his new promotion. No, if the humans attack had taught him anything, it's that an ambush could be quite useful.

He probed his arm around and finally found the hilt of his claymore. As he did that, Captain Vachon turned towards Danthor and said, "That was great fighting back there. You have no reason to feel bad about being called at the bottom of the list; you'll be a great crusader."

Danthor nodded. "Thanks, I know I just have to keep working harder to make sure no one dies next time."  
>Vachon shrugged. "Everyone dies in battles. It's a fact of life. Look at the victory we have brought though, and it's all because of you."<p>

Danthor smiled and opened his mouth, but quickly shut it when he saw Sorenson rise up from behind the captain with his claymore ready, yelling, "VICTORY FOR SYLVANAS!"

Before Vachon could turn around, the claymore was shoved through his chest, coming out on the other side. He let out a pained gasp as blood began to flow from his mouth. Faster than anyone could see, Danthor acted, swinging his shield directly at Sorenson's face with such impact that it sent him flying the ground, his claymore falling out of reach.

"Captain!" Danthor yelled, catching Vachon as he dropped to his knees.

He looked up at the warrior with blurred vision. Surprisingly, he smiled and said, "Looks like you finally managed to use your shield as an effective weapon . . ."

Danthor nodded. "Don't talk, captain. We'll get you help right away. You'll be fine!"

"No . . . his sword pierced my heart. I know I'm a"—he coughed—"goner . . ."

Everyone surrounded Vachon—silent as a vigil out of respect for the captain—as his eyes began to close. With that lingering grin, he looked up towards the sky and said his last words to them:

"The Crusade will be in great shape . . . if all our new recruits are like you guys . . ."

And with that, Captain Vachon died.

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><p><em>The loss of a leader . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	14. Telling Tales

After the ambush . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>14: Telling Tales<span>**

"I said tell me everything you know, you son of a bitch!" cursed Lethella, slamming Sorenson in the stomach with her staff.

The captured and wounded Forsaken was tied to a rotting tree at Garren's Haunt and woken up out of his daze (he was hit with Danthor's shield quite hard) for questioning. He grunted in pain as her iron staff hit his stomach, but said only, "I was following orders, much like you zealots were!"

"I don't believe you," Lethella said, this time slamming her staff across Sorenson's face.

Blood flew out of his mouth as he coughed a few times, his head hanging low. He looked back up at the battle mage and tried his best to grin, showing her his rotted and bloodied teeth. "You crusaders think you're good at inflicting pain, but you always fail to realize that our kind has gone through much worse. Hell, I was tortured, then killed and resurrected! What do you think you can do to me?"

He started to laugh, but was cut short when Lethella struck him in his stomach again with her staff. Balean, Kojak, and Myles elected to go over to the Agamand Mills to see if they could find anything the troops left behind, leaving Lethella, Danthor, and Jonas alone with Sorenson for questioning.

"You were obviously ordered to take over the Mills and then the Haunt," she said. "For what purpose? What are the Forsaken's plans?"

"You've probably got some brains in that pretty little head of yours," mocked Sorenson. "Why don't you try and put two and two together, huh?"

She whacked him with the staff again. "Answer me!"

"Lethella, this isn't working," Jonas started.

Danthor agreed. "Yeah, he's not gonna talk, no matter how much we hit him."

"So what are you suggesting?" she asked, pointing to the undead. "That we just let him go or keep him prisoner? As crusaders, it's our job to find out everything we can from people like him."

"We know, but this clearly isn't working," replied the paladin.

"Besides, maybe he really doesn't know anything," added the warrior.

Sorenson laughed. "Well whaddya know? _Rational_ Scarlet crusaders? I never thought I'd see the day." Danthor walked closer to Sorenson, who kept smiling and laughing. "Oh, what now? Don't tell me you're _really_ gonna let me go, 'cause that would pass rational and enter into stupidity! Still, I'm not totally against the idea of—_OOPH_!"

Danthor delivered a swift punch to Sorenson's gut, winding him. As he was doubling over to catch his breath, Danthor shoved him back against the tree and held him there, whispering in his ear, "Now listen, scum, we lost four good men to get where we are now, including our captain. So if you know what's good for you, you'd shut your pitiful excuse of a mouth right now before I decide to carry out the Light's work myself!"

Jonas gripped Danthor's shoulder and pulled him away from Sorenson. "Enough! This is getting us nowhere. Once Balean and Myles come back, I say we ship this piece of filth back to the monastery for a _real_ interrogation with Vishas."

"You mean little Jimmy Vishas?" Sorenson chimed in. "Hah, if that fool wanted to see some _real_ interrogations, he'd just need to talk to the Dark Lady herself!"

"We said shut the hell up!" Jonas said.

Sorenson would have none of that. "If all of you crusaders are as weak as that guy I stuck like a pig, then you wouldn't last five seconds in the presence of Sylvanas!"

That was enough for Lethella. She forcefully shoved her staff against his throat, cutting off his guttural laugh and said to her companions, "Why wait until he gets to Vishas? We can make him talk now! Danthor, give me your knife."

"Wait, what are you considering, Lethella?" Jonas asked quickly.

Surprisingly, Danthor took the knife that originally belonged to Vachon—taking it with the intent to continue using it for righteous purposes instead of just letting it rot in an armory back at the monastery—out of his belt pocket and tossed it to Lethella. She caught it deftly and held it towards Sorenson's tied-up left hand.

"Hey, what are you—" the Forsaken started.

"Now I'm going to give you five seconds to tell me what your Dark Lady's overall plan is," she threatened, "or I'll cut off your pinky finger."

Jonas moved forward, saying, "Hey, Lethella, stop! That's not something you—"

"You should listen to your crusader friend," Sorenson said, but fear was clearly present on his face. Danthor knew that reaction well. "Leave the interrogating to the professionals."

"Five . . . four . . ." Lethella started, the knife inching closer to his finger. "The blade's razor sharp."

Jonas looked over at Danthor for some support, saying, "Hey, Danthor, we can't let her . . ." He trailed off when he realized he would get no aid from Danthor. The warrior was too busy looking at the ground, a dark look clouding over his face.

"Three . . . two . . ."

"You don't have the guts!" Sorenson snarled.

Jonas had enough, moving towards Lethella and putting his hand on her shoulder, saying, "Get away from him right now, Lethella, or—"

"One!" The knife easily cut through Sorenson's pinky, causing him to howl in pain as it dropped to the floor next to his foot.

Jonas forcefully pulled her back, moving to inspect the wound. "You idiot! Do you realize what you've done?"

Sorenson continued to cry out as his eyes began to roll into the back of his head, his shaking becoming spastic. Jonas tried his best to apply the Holy Light into his newest wound.

"He's going into shock!" he said. "By the Light, we'll never get anything out of him now!"

Danthor seemed to snap out of his stupor at this point, and, realizing what just happened, sprinted away from the house towards the shore. When he was far enough, he dropped to his knees and evacuated the contents of his stomach onto the sand. He stayed there for a few seconds, panting and wiping his mouth.

"Why didn't I do anything?" he asked himself. "I just let her do it—with my knife, even!"

_You were upset,_ he seemed to tell himself. _He wouldn't stop mocking Vachon's death, and you were angry at him. It's understandable._

"No it's not!" he said, slamming his fist into the sand. "There was no reason to do that. By using such barbaric methods, we're no better than the undead." The thought gave him no comfort.

The sun had fully risen by the time Danthor stood back up and walked back to camp.

— — —

Balean, Kojak, and Myles came back with a Forsaken cart (used to carry supplies, no doubt) hitched to an undead horse. The two figured Sorenson left it behind to make their march on Garren's Haunt speedier, but in truth, it didn't really matter.

The bodies of Vachon and the three fallen crusaders were put on the cart along with a tied-up Sorenson. Jonas was able to stop the bleeding, ensuring his survival, but the undead was still in shock from losing his finger, needing help to get put on the cart while his head rolled back and forth, complimented by dark mutterings.

It was elected that Myles would take the cart back to the monastery to deliver the news of their victory (as well as Sorenson) and give the bodies a proper burial. No doubt Mograine would send a battalion of crusaders back to the Haunt and Mills to secure and fortify their locations. Using an undead horse to get there was the only questionable part.

"Don't worry, the horse will be purified and dealt with accordingly when I get to the monastery," Myles assured them, shrugging. "For now, though, beggars can't be choosers."

When he departed for the monastery, that only left Danthor, Lethella, Balean (with Kojak), and Jonas to guard two unoccupied territories. It was by no means the perfect situation, but they had to deal with what they had—they'd likely only be there until nightfall, anyways.

Jonas and Balean elected to go and watch the Agamand Mills, leaving Danthor and Lethella to guards Garren's Haunt. All four of them agreed there would be little danger in _either_ camp (with all the Scourge dead at the Mills and the Rot Hide clan being too stupid to realize their land was claimed by someone else), but it was better to be safe than sorry.

The time passed quietly (and awkwardly) enough for Danthor and Lethella, with neither really knowing what to say to start an interesting conversation. Still, the warrior found it interesting how he was getting to know more and more about Lethella. And while some was good and some was bad, he must admit he was starting to consider himself her friend.

As the sun began to set, it started to get cold. Danthor set up a fire near the house where Maggot Eye resided and sat down close to it. He wondered what Vishas would do to Sorenson when he finally arrived to the monastery. Shuddering, he thought of Vorrel, who for all intents and purposes didn't seem to have any real information to give them, yet was brutally tortured and killed anyway. He couldn't even think about what they'd do to Sorenson, who no doubt had _some_ information concerning the Forsaken's plans with the Scarlet Crusade.

_It's a tricky scenario, all right,_ he thought to himself, lying on his back to look up at the sky. _Sorenson will be subjected to horrible methods of questioning, but he deserves it, right? After all, he tried to kill all of us and succeeded in killing Vachon. Plus, he's an undead, and he should get whatever comes to him for serving such an evil faction._

Images and thoughts of his mother and Kayla shot through his head—how they were brutally killed and burned by the Forsaken just because they wanted his land. Yes, the Forsaken deserved whatever they got, but then why was he so against torturing Sorenson and cutting off his finger?

While he was swimming amidst his own thoughts, Lethella walked over and sat down next to Danthor, holding her hands out to warm them. Danthor turned his head to look over at her curiously, as if he almost didn't believe she was there.

She saw this, and asked, "You don't mind if I sit here, right? The fire's the only warm place around here."

"Oh no, go right ahead." He sat back up and scratched the back of his head. "After all, what kind of comrade would I be if I turned you away?"

"Comrade, huh?" she mused. "I've never really considered many people my comrades, much less my friends. I guess it's a trust issue of mine."

Danthor shrugged. "Everyone's got those kinds of issues. Don't worry about it. It'll come back naturally to you, eventually."

"And if not?"

Danthor shrugged again. "Then I guess you'll become a great inquisitor within the Crusade."

This sent both of them off into fits of laughter. The joke wasn't funny (at least in Danthor's opinion), but it was the first time in a while that they actually _could_ relax and laugh, so they took full advantage of it.

When the laughter died down, Lethella looked at Danthor and said, "I'd like to thank you for siding with me in deciding to attack the Forsaken. It really made all the difference."

"Nah," replied Danthor. "The opinion of a soldier like myself paled in comparison to yours. _You_ were the one who originally had the idea; I just agreed with it."

"Still," she said, "it meant a lot to me. Thank you."

"Oh . . . uh, you're welcome."

Now this truly _was_ strange. He'd barely seen Lethella speak before this mission, and now here she was, actually laughing and _thanking_ him for something. _Looks like that respect goal isn't too far away,_ he thought.

It was silent for a while, the only sound being the crackling of the fire and the music of the bugs coming out now that the sun was down. He turned to the battle mage and was about to say something, when he heard his name being called in the distance.

"Hey, Danthor, Lethella!" the voice cried. The two looked in the direction of the sound and saw another campfire blazing atop the mountain separating Garren's Haunt and the Agamand Mills. Sitting at the campfire was Jonas, Balean, and Kojak, all motioning at the two.

"What the hell are you doing?" the warrior felt compelled to ask.

"We were hungry and bored!" Balean called back. "We thought it would be more fun if we all sat together and had dinner!"

"Don't worry," yelled Jonas. "From where we are, we can see both territories clearly and would know immediately if they were under attack."

Danthor's answer seemed to come when his stomach let out a powerful rumbling sound. He looked at Lethella and grinned. "Whaddya say?"

Lethella shrugged. "It can't hurt. Besides, the food smells good from down here."

"Agreed," Danthor said, standing up with the battle mage as they started walking towards the mountain.

— — —

The four of them cooked up some strips of meat they'd brought along as rations. To all who smelled its scent and heard its crackling sound over they fire, it certainly seemed more appealing than they tough jerky strips they'd been eating on the go for the past day or so.

The conversations were about small things to pass the time as the food was being cooked. During which, Danthor consistently looked over at both the Haunt and Mills to check if anyone was in either. Jonas was right; the view was quite good from where they were.

When the food was ready and being distributed, Jonas said, "So even thought we've known each other for quite a while, I've just realized how _little_ we actually know about each other."

Danthor took a bite of his meat and chewed slowly, savoring its flavors. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I know almost nothing about you guys," he said. "I'd say this is the perfect opportunity to learn about each other's past and bond a little more. What do ya think?"

The four looked at each other for a while. Balean shrugged, saying, "I'll talk if everyone else will."

Jonas clapped his hands together and said, "Alright, I'll start then! I grew up in the Elwynn Forest. At the Northshire Abbey, if you believe it. There, I was trained since I could remember in the teachings of the Light. I was always passionate about spreading the word of the Light, so I became a paladin and joined the Church in Stormwind. I was kind of a strange mix between a paladin and priest, able to use the Light to fight, but wanting nothing more than to preach about it, so I travelled around a lot, doing odd jobs in the name of the Church."

He paused for a second and looked at the three listening to his story.

"Then, one day, I was sent out to Chillwind Camp in the Western Plaguelands to help the Argent Dawn . . ."

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><p><em>It's a night for discovery.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	15. The Felstone Task

Jonas before the Crusade. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>15: The Felstone Task<span>**

_Jonas saw the man at Chillwind Camp almost immediately—and how couldn't he? He was tall, dark-skinned, battle-scarred, and wore armor and tabard typical of an Alliance veteran, completed with a large two-handed mace strapped onto his back; much like the one Jonas carried himself._

_He tentatively took a few steps forward into camp, passing by the burned-down house to approach the man. Chillwind was a rather small camp located in the southernmost region of the Western Plaguelands. The plant life surrounding the camp was dismal and dying, like almost everything else in the Plaguelands these days. Even the animals he saw on his way to the camp were diseased and dying. _That's what happens when the Scourge get their way,_ the paladin remembered thinking as he saw them._

_He earned a few glares from the men and women at the camp. They looked tired and worn-out, typical of Argent Dawn members fighting a clearly losing battle so deep in undead-controlled territory. Still, they said nothing and let the young and bright-eyed paladin pass._

_"Excuse me, sir? Would you happen to be Ashlam Valorfist?"_

_The battle-scarred man looked up from the map of the Plaguelands he had placed onto a small box in front of his tent. "I'm Commander Valorfist, leader of Chillwind Camp, yes. Who the hell are you?"_

_"Oh, uh, my name's Jonas Merrigan," he replied. "I was sent here by the Church of the Holy Light in response to your distress call. They say I could be of some help."_

_Valorfist lit himself a cigarette, nodding. "I remember now. What fucking luck we have to only be sent _one_ priest out of all the requests we sent out."_

_"I'm a paladin, sir."_

_Valorfist took a puff on his cigarette. "Well that's better, I suppose. Now listen up, most of our men here are gearing up to fight at the Scourge-controlled town of Andorhal. It's the second-largest base for the undead here, bested only by Scholomance, but we're not gonna worry about that right now. Because of this, we're a little short-handed at the moment and need all the help we can get." He pointed to a woman standing by the burnt and partially-collapsed building. "Go report to High Priestess MacDonnell, and she'll explain everything to you."_

_Jonas took a look at MacDonnell. She looked to be about his age, with blonde hair parted at the side and a white headband keeping the hair out of her face. She dressed every inch a priest, with a white robe and staff._

_Valorfist looked at Jonas with an eyebrow raised. "The hell are you still doing? Get the fuck outta my sight."_

_"Oh, uh, right," Jonas said. "Sorry, sir."_

_MacDonnell, much to Jonas's joy, seemed much nicer than Valorfist. She smiled at Jonas as he approached and held out her hand, saying, "Hey, don't worry about the commander. You'd be as grumpy as him too if you had to deal with everything he's been doing lately. I'm High Priestess MacDonnell, second-in-command of the Argent Dawn here and member of the Church of the Holy Light."_

_Jonas shook her hand and said, "I'm Jonas Merrigan, paladin and member of the Church as well. I was sent here from Stormwind to help out in any way I can."_

_"So I've heard," she said. "And we certainly need it. Commander Valorfist has been putting all his efforts in the coming assault on Andorhal, while completely ignoring an equally serious threat plaguing all the farms around here."_

_"And what would that be?"_

_"Plague cauldrons," he heard a voice behind him say. He turned around to see a dour and balding man dressed entirely in green clothes (and shoulder pads) with a brown beard on his chin. In his hand he gripped a sizeable tome. "Each of the four farms in the Western Plaguelands has a large cauldron placed in the middle of the field. The Scourge use this cauldron to brew up the Plague of Undeath to corrupt the land all around it."_

_"By the Light," Jonas said._

_MacDonnell nodded. "Yes. Alchemist Arbington and I would like to study the contents of these cauldrons so we know exactly what goes in them and, with luck, find out how to counter them. Unfortunately, Commander Valorfist will only spare us five Argent defenders for this venture. Will you help us?"_

_Jonas looked at MacDonnell and Arbington. A grin spread on his face as he asked, "So where should I start?"_

_Arbington handed him an empty bottle and said, "Take this. In order to access the cauldron, you'll need to get the key from the Cauldron Lord protecting it. Start at Felstone Field, just north past Andorhal. When you have a sample, come back and deliver it to us."_

— — —

_Jonas and the five Argent defenders were able to bypass the heavily-fortified town of Andorhal by walking through the waist-deep river that ran through it, coming out on the other side without detection by the Scourge._

_In the distance they could see Felstone Fields, and the dirtied air that surrounded it. The five Argent defenders seemed to be under the impression that because Jonas was deployed by the Church, he was supposed to be their leader. Why they had this idea, the paladin didn't know, but he wasn't planning on letting those five men down. Besides, it seemed like this would be a fairly simple mission: Fight Scourge on the farm, kill the Cauldron Lord, get a sample of the plague brew, and go back._

_As they got closer to the farm, Jonas could clearly spot the plague cauldron placed right in the middle of the rotting field. The field itself was surrounded by a mix of skeletons and ghouls, with the ghoul Cauldron Lord Bilemaw (or so he was called by MacDonnell) directly protecting the cauldron. He looked to his men and motioned towards the destroyed house in the northeastern corner of the farm. _

_"We'll sneak around there and launch an attack," he told them. "If things go wrong, the rendezvous point will be the house, okay?"_

_The defenders nodded and they started to move. It was relatively simple work going around the side of the farm towards the house, and from the position Jonas was in, it looked like the direct line from the house to the cauldron had the least Scourge protection._

_When they finally made it to the house, Jonas pointed directly at the cauldron a few yards away. "On my count, I want all of us to rush down a straight path towards the cauldron. We'll keep a tight formation and be as quiet as possible, so as not to alert the rest of the Scourge around here. After we kill Bilemaw, cover me while I get a sample from the cauldron. Then we'll make a speedy getaway back to the camp. Got it?"_

_The defenders nodded, and that was good enough for Jonas. He drew his paladin hammer and threw his arm down, his weapon making a whooshing sound as it sped past the air. The signal was sent, and the men moved forward._

_Jonas was the first in the squad, while the rest of them stayed tightly-packed together right behind him, their swords and shields drawn. The paladin came upon the first rotting ghoul with a vengeance, smashing his head in with a hammer. One of the skeletons noticed this and began to cast a spell, but Jonas quickly used the power of the Light to kill him on the spot._

_They were silent, efficient. Only killing the Scourge they needed to, moving steadily towards the cauldron. They were about halfway there when they heard the sound of dogs barking. One of the defenders cut down a ghoul and pointed behind them, saying, "Look!"_

"DEATH TO THE SCOURGE!"

_A flurry of arrows rained down on the undead, and Jonas turned around to see what was causing it. There, coming from the northwestern side of the farm was a group of Scarlet crusaders, their weapons drawn as they cried loudly, charging towards the undead. Apparently, they had a camp set up on the outskirts of the farm._

_Their loud and brazen fighting tactics caught the attention of all the undead on and near the farm, and they set upon everything that was living almost immediately, including Jonas and his party._

_"Damn!" the paladin said as at least a score of undead were now surrounding them._

_They all fought ferociously, Jonas using the Light and his hammer together to smite the Scourge, but when one fell more arose in their place. To make matters worse, the Scarlet archers were shooting arrows in their direction, clearly not caring about their wellbeing. _

_When it became painfully obvious of the danger they were in, Jonas smashed his way through the group of undead, yelling, "Back to the house! Group back up there!"_

_He fought his way towards the rotting farmhouse, kicking the door in and rushing inside, carefully seeing if anyone was following them. Wanting to get a better vantage point of the battle going on (to try and salvage _any_ hope of their attack still succeeding), he rushed up the stairs on his left._

_When he reached the second story, he barely had time to look out the window before he heard a woman shriek. "Help! Oh please, help!"_

_He looked to his left and saw the master bedroom, a ghostly woman standing there, cowering in the corner. Jonas slowly approached her. She looked old, with her short, gray hair and wrinkles. Even though she was a ghost, Jonas sensed no ill-will coming from her—only fear._

_"Please, don't let them hurt me! You're not one of _them_, are you?" she begged._

_Jonas raised his arms in a non-threatening motion, saying, "I'm not gonna hurt you, don't worry. What do you mean by one of them?"_

_"The Scourge," she answered. "They were the ones that killed me. Me and my husband used to own this farm, but then they came and killed us both."_

_"I'm not a member of the Scourge," assured the paladin. "In fact, I'm here to fight them. My name is Jonas Merrigan."  
>The ghost stood up, saying, "My name is Janice Felstone. Are you really here to help my farm?"<em>

_Jonas nodded. "That's the goal, anyway."_

_"Then please, help me!" she said. "My husband, John, died defending the farm. Those monsters then turned him into one of them! I've made peace that my husband is dead, but I can't achieve a peaceful rest until I've completed one final task."_

_"What is that?"_

_Janice held up one half of what appeared to be an amulet. "This was our good luck charm. We used it to bring good luck for our crops whenever they grew. John has the other half on him, but he no longer knows what it is. Please, I'm begging you, grant my husband rest and give me his half of the good luck charm, so I may finally be at peace."_

_Jonas had heard about this several times before when he was at the church in Stormwind. The common belief as to why most ghosts exist is because they're unable to rest peacefully, usually bound by something in the mortal world. Once they've taken care of that last bond between them and this earth, they're able to depart peacefully to be with the Light._

_The paladin nodded. "Don't worry, I'll help you achieve your final rest, and grant your husband peace as well."_

_"Oh, thank you!" Janice proclaimed, tears coming from her eyes. "You don't know how much this means to me. You can find him in the barn near here. If I may request, paladin, please try and help him peacefully, if you can."_

_"Of course. Don't worry, ma'am, soon you and your husband will be with the Light."_

_"You have no idea how happy that makes me!"_

_With that, Jonas descended the stairs, now having two tasks at hand on the Felstone Field. As he entered the main room on the first floor, he saw four of the Argent defenders sitting around, tending to their wounds._

_"We're down one," he said. "Do you know what happened?"_

_One of the defenders pointed to the door. "He fell to the Scourge, fighting them off so that we could come here. It's because of him that the undead don't know we're here."_

_Jonas nodded solemnly. "Don't worry, he shall know nothing but paradise now that he is with the Light. It always rewards the good and just in the end."_

_"Helluva lotta good that does us now," one of the men said, wrapping his bleeding arm with a piece of cloth. "So what's the next move, boss?"_

_Jonas ran a hand through his hair, looking outside. It was back to normal on the fields, indicating that the crusaders either died or retreated. Either way, the Scourge won, and that was just going to make their task even harder._

_"We're sticking to the original plan," he said. "Only we're going to have to make one little detour first."_

_The defenders seemed to groan at this. "What for?" one asked._

_Jonas looked at him and said proudly, "When the Light calls, you answer it, and that's what we're gonna do—grant peace to the owners of this farm. Don't worry, it shouldn't be difficult. Just listen to me . . ."_

_The four remaining Argent defenders gathered around the paladin sent from the Church of the Holy Light who was tasked with retrieving a sample from a plague cauldron. He heard the call of the Light, however, and added one more thing he had to do before he returned to Chillwind Camp._

— — —

_The five men headed east from the farmhouse._

_The barn was not but a few feet away from where Jonas met Janice Felstone, ghost and previous owner of Felstone Field. The paladin had taken on the task of granting both her and her husband, John, peace the only way one could when death has already taken hold—through the Light._

_There were pitifully few guards by the opening of the run-down barn. Jonas and the Argent defenders dispatched them with ease. Before slipping inside, he took one last glance back at the field. He saw the corpse of one Scarlet crusader on the field, while Cauldron Lord Bilemaw was standing in front of the large plague cauldron at the middle of the field, just like before._

_"Come on, let's go."_

_Most of the barn was blocked by a wall. All the humans pushed themselves up against this wall, with Jonas the closest to the interior. Giving one quick signal, all the defenders nodded. It was time to move._

_Jonas moved to the right, appearing to everyone in the barn. There were seven Scourge soldiers at the barn—four melee combatants, two skeletal mages, and John "Jabbering" Felstone himself, a sizeable ghoul situated near the back. All the undead turned to look quizzically at the bold paladin, John muttering something in a garbled language._

_"May the Light find a place for you all." Jonas raised his arm high and channeled the power of the Light within it. The energy glowed so brightly that a bright light overtook the room for a few seconds, blinding everyone watching. The Scourge let out a cry of pain and covered their eyes._

_Time to strike._

_The four Argent defenders rushed from their hiding place into the room, hacking and slashing at the undead. Two melee ghouls and a skeletal mage fell instantly. Jonas grabbed his own hammer at this point, smashing in the skull of another ghoul rushing towards him. _

_John Felstone had recovered his sight by now and saw what was going on. He let out a large gargling sound, then rushed straight at Jonas, both hands out in front of him. Jonas held his hammer out in front of him to block the attack, putting the two in a temporary standstill. Using his strength, the paladin pushed the ghoul back, swinging his hammer skillfully as he advanced._

_John threw all caution to the wind and rushed straight at Jonas again. He didn't expect this, and as a result, the ghoul's claws sunk into his right shoulder. He cried out in pain and swung his hammer out of instinct, hitting the ghoul in his side. Releasing more guttural sounds, he once again rushed forward. _

_Jonas summoned the power of the Light in his free hand and used its holy power to slash John across his chest. He cried out, but didn't falter. Gripping his hammer, Jonas swung it at just the right time, the weapon sinking itself into the side of Felstone's skull, making a soft thumping sound as it hit. The jabbering ghoul took a few cautious steps back, gingerly touching the side of his head where he was hit._

_Sensing his end, he let out one more howl that resonated throughout the entire barn and rushed back at Jonas. Not wanting to get struck again, he summoned up the Light and struck John yet again. This time, he stopped, staggered, and fell. Jonas put his hammer back and inspected the state of the barn. All the undead were killed, and the Argent defenders stood victorious, a few slightly wounded, but nothing bad._

_Jonas kneeled down towards John and inspected his corpse. Hanging loosely from his hip was the second half of the amulet—the Felstone's good luck charm. Pocketing it, he looked at the men and smiled. "Good job. Our side task is done, and now we can focus on the main task. Come on, let's go . . ."_

_The group barely got an inch out of the barn before stopping in their tracks, their blood running cold at the sight in front of them. Right outside of the barn, a large number of Scourge troops had gathered, apparently waiting for the humans to come out. Towards the back, Bilemaw pointed towards the five of them and let out a large howl. The Scourge troops responded in turn, ready to shed blood._

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><p>A trap?<p>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	16. A Costly Mistake

Ambush at the field. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>16: A Costly Mistake<span>**

How'd they all know we were here?_ thought Jonas. Then he remembered the strange sounds John "Jabbering" Felstone made before attacking._

_Well, no time to dwell on it now._

_The five humans drew their weapons immediately, Jonas pointing at Bilemaw with his hammer and yelling, "New plan! We charge straight towards the cauldron lord and never look back! For the Light!"_

_"For the Light!" the defenders yelled, and with that, they all charged._

_The Scourge in the front were melee skeletons and ghouls, and they were the bravest, rushing head-on to match the ferocious human's might. Jonas struck down two immediately with his hammer, using the Light to power a Crusader Strike on a fourth._

_All five of them formed up into a tight squad, fighting off all the undead at their side, taking wounds but never letting up. Through sheer force, they muscled their way through the group, cutting a direct line straight to the plague cauldron. When they broke through the last of the undead before the cauldron lord, the group immediately split and started holding the Scourge off with their attacks._

_"Cover me!" called Jonas. "I'll take care of this!"_

_Cauldron Lord Bilemaw let out a cry of battle, charging towards the paladin, who met him with equal intensity. Jonas swung his hammer, but Bilemaw ducked, raking his claws across Jonas's chest, rending his flesh and causing him to bleed. Crying out, Jonas swung his hammer down, clipping Bilemaw in his shoulder._

_This threw the ghoul off-balance, and Jonas took this chance for an extra swing, striking him in his right hip. Bilemaw thrust out both his arms in a thrashing motion, hitting Jonas in the chest twice. Gripping his chest, Jonas used the power of the Light to try and help bind the wounds. As the cauldron lord charged towards him again, the paladin used the remaining holy power to smite him._

_Bilemaw gripped his head as the Light began to course through him, stopping his attack dead in its tracks. Jonas knew he'd never get another chance at this, so he swung his hammer upwards, striking Bilemaw right in his jaw, sending his head flying right off and landing a few feet away. The ghoul's body gave a few spastic movements, then dropped completely._

_Not wasting any time (the lives of his men depended on it), Jonas grabbed the key from Bilemaw's body and quickly unlocked the plague cauldron at Felstone Field. When it was open, he took out the empty bottle and filled it. He gave one quick glance at the cauldron's contents—it was murky green and constantly bubbling—he turned back to his men and yelled, "Victory! Back to the house, now!"_

_The defenders struck down the last of their victims before breaking form and rushing with Jonas back towards the Felstone farmhouse. The Scourge gave them a little chase, but stopped quickly, unsure of what to do now that they had no leader among them._

— — —

_Janice Felstone looked at Jonas with expectant eyes as he and his men mounted the stairs of her house and entered her room. "Well, could you get the second half?"_

_Jonas nodded. "I've gotten what you've asked for and granted your husband rest. He is with the Light now . . ."_

_"Yes, yes," Janice said. "Let me see the other half, please."_

_Jonas took the other piece of the amulet out and handed it to Janice. The ghost's eyes grew wide upon seeing it, and she immediately set upon taking out her own half. The amulet clicked together easily, creating a single circular necklace-like trinket._

_"You should be at peace now," Jonas said. "Go forward now, with no fear, for the Light always—"_

_The amulet released a brilliant flash of light, temporarily blinding the five men watching. When their eyesight was regained, Janice Felstone was gone. Instead, she was replaced by an ashy-skinned (yet still very much alive) human female, with dark hair, black robes, and glowing eyes._

_"I'd like to thank you, paladin," the woman said. "That concoction Bilemaw brewed kept the Cult of the Damned from getting anywhere close to him or the Jabbering Ghoul. But in one fell swoop, you took _both_ of those traitors out, allowing this land to once again be taken by the Scourge!"_

_One of the Argent defenders drew his sword, saying, "You're a necromancer working for the Cult! Well, we're certainly not gonna let you walk away with whatever we just gave you!"_

_Everyone else seemed to agree, drawing their weapons and charging towards the necromancer. With a grin, she held out her arm and sent out a powerful shockwave, sending all five of the men flying backwards against the wall._

_"Don't make me laugh, humans." Her voice had taken on an otherworldly quality to it. "With the completed Necromancer's Charm in the hands of Araj the Summoner again, Andorhal will once again be impenetrable from outside attack! But don't worry, Argent fools, I'll be sure to tell the lich personally that none of this would've been possible without you!"_

_Letting loose a cackling laugh, the Cult of the Damned necromancer teleported away, leaving the men in the silence of the empty farmhouse. Jonas was the first to respond, asking his men, "You guys okay?"_

_The defender who talked defiantly to the necromancer and had the injured arm from the previous fight (his name was James) rubbed his bandaged arm. "My arm's aching like shit, but otherwise I'm fine . . ."_

_Jonas rose slowly, his men staring at him with disbelief, knowing that it was because of _him_ that the Scourge commander of Andorhal, Araj the Summoner, now had a powerful magical item that would only bolster their defenses in the Western Plaguelands._

_Still, they followed Jonas out of the house and back towards Chillwind Camp._

— — —

_The Argent defenders immediately went to Commander Valorfist upon their return, while Jonas went to High Priestess MacDonnell, who was talking to Alchemist Arbington. _

_The priestess's eyes lit up when she was Jonas, saying, "Ah, our heroic paladin returns. Tell me, Jonas, do you have what we requested?"_

_Jonas held up the bottle of plague concoction from the Felstone cauldron and handed it to Arbington. The alchemist inspected its contents and said, "Ah, perfect, perfect! It will take me but a few minutes to discover what its contents are. Wait here."_

_Arbington took the bottle to his makeshift alchemy table a few feet away. Jonas craned his neck to see the four Argent defenders (with James increasingly clutching his arm more and more) talk to Valorfist, who nodded—a growing sense of distress present on his voice._

_MacDonnell sensed the tension, asking, "What happened, Jonas? Does this have to do with losing one of your men?"_

_The paladin absentmindedly shook his head. "No, no, nothing of the sort . . . This is much worse."_

_Less than a second later, Valorfist strode over towards Jonas and MacDonnell's position. Before the priestess could ask what was going on, the commander punched Jonas in the stomach, winding him._

_The paladin buckled to his knees as MacDonnell looked at Valorfist. "What are you doing?"_

_"You don't know what he did, MacDonnell," Valorfist said, pointing directly at Jonas. "He willingly aided an evil being and made it so that our coming assault on Andorhal is nothing more than a dream now!"_

_MacDonnell looked at Jonas. "Is this true?"_

_The paladin coughed before looking up at her and saying, "As a manner of speaking, yes, but there's a bit more too it."_

_"I've heard the entire story," stated Valorfist. "You helped a Cult of the Damned member retrieve a valued piece of a powerful charm that Araj is no doubt using now to bolster Andorhal's defenses! Although it may have been unwitting, you still helped someone achieve an evil goal."_

_"Oh, Jonas . . ." MacDonnell's voice sounded sorrowful, lamenting. "You know that breaks your code of conduct originally set down by the Church."_

_Jonas looked at James and saw him consistently rubbing his wounded arm._

_Alchemist Arbington appeared on the scene, holding the bottle of liquid. "I was able to discern the contents of the cauldron."_

_"What's in it?" asked the priestess._

_Arbington swished the contents of the bottle around before responding with, "It's completely different from what we expected. In fact, after conducting further tests, I was able to conclude that this isn't the Plague of Undeath at all."_

_"Then what is it?" Jonas asked._

_"It appears to emit some kind of gas that can ward off certain types of people, depending on the ingredients put in it," Arbington said. "If I were to guess, I'd say it was used to create a barrier around the field."_

_One of the Argent defenders spoke up. "The necromancer said something about the cauldron keeping the Cult of the Damned away. She also said something about Bilemaw and the Jabbering Ghoul as being traitors to the Scourge."_

_"So these two broke away from the Lich King and were holding the Felstone Field to themselves?" asked MacDonnell. "Then by killing them, we inadvertently have aided the Scourge."_

_"Indeed we have," said Valorfist, looking back at Jonas. "As a paladin myself, I know that the punishment for breaking one of the holy codes—including aiding an evil entity—is to be stripped of your rank and holy powers. So, Jonas Merrigan, are you repentant for what you've done?"_

_Jonas looked up at Valorfist with conviction. "No."_

_"What did you say?" asked Valorfist._

_"Jonas," started MacDonnell, "if you're repentant for what you've done, you don't have to be stripped of your pow—"_

_Jonas stood back up. "I said no, I'm not repentant for my actions. I may have been tricked, but because of what I did, I was able to take out two powerful undead and dismantle what could've been a powerful threat to the region if given enough time. I'm sorry for helping the Scourge out, but my actions didn't cost any direct loss of life, so no, I don't regret what I've done."_

_"You stupid son of a . . ." Valorfist said, stepping forward as if to strike out against the paladin. "Regardless of what you think, you've_

(James kept rubbing his arm, sweat appearing on his face)

_broken one of the paladin's code of conduct, and are now breaking another—directly disrespecting authority. If you're not repentant for what you did to break the code, you'll be stripped of your powers and excommunicated from the church!"_

_"I already told you, I don't regret my actions!" Jonas said. "I granted the undead rest and freed the Felstone Farms from the undead! I have nothing to feel sorry about! You're just upset because I've set back your damned assault plan on Andorhal!"_

_"You fool!" cried Valorfist. "You're leaving my no choice but to—"_

"AHHHHHHH!"_ James cried out, dropping to the floor and ripping off the bandage on his arm, revealing sickly green skin underneath that was spreading._

_"He's been infected," Arbington said._

_"Get a medic over here, quick!" Valorfist cried out. "This man needs immediate medical attention!"_

_When James was taken away to the medic's tent, Valorfist had had enough. He walked over to Jonas and clocked him in his face, sending him sprawling to the ground. "Commander!" MacDonnell said. "There was no need to do that!"_

_Commander Valorfist looked at the three remaining Argent defenders and ordered, "Take him and escort him to Uther's Tomb, where we'll officially strip him of his rank and holy powers."_

_Jonas said nothing. He simply stood up and allowed the defenders to escort him to the east, where Uther's Tomb lay._

— — —

_Uther the Lightbringer, the founder of the Order of the Silver Hand—an organization comprised solely of paladins—was killed by his pupil and prince of Lordaeron, Arthas (who would later become the Lich King), at Andorhal. His body was recovered and buried at Sorrow Hill, a graveyard directly east of Chillwind Camp. _

_A tomb was erected in his honor, with a heroic statue being placed over his final resting place. Despite the darkness surrounding the now desolate graveyard, light always seemed to shine at the tomb._

_So it seemed only fitting that Jonas would be at the tomb now, kneeling in front of the great statue of a great man, Commander Valorfist and High Priestess MacDonnell standing in front of him. The commander had a stern look on his face, while the priestess still looked regretful at the whole situation._

_"Jonas Merrigan, paladin and member of the Church of the Holy Light," Valorfist said, "we offer you one more chance at this holy site to truly repent for what you've done, so that we may stop this ceremony and begin you on your path for redemption. What do you say?"_

_Jonas had already had his hammer taken away and had the three Argent defenders behind him, ready to run him through if necessary. Not being able to do much else, he looked at the commander and said, "I do not regret my actions, and I believe the Light sides with me on this. You're letting your anger get in the way, clouding the truth that the situation is actually a win against the undead."_

_"Jonas, please don't do this," MacDonnell pleaded. "We need someone like you around to help us get rid of the Scourge once and for all."_

_The paladin looked at her, yet said nothing._

_Valorfist moved closer to Jonas, saying, "If you are truly unrepentant, then you leave me no choice. As a paladin and former knight of the Silver Hand, I hereby relieve you from your holy service." _

_He ripped off Jonas's shoulder pads, then moved on to his chest piece. When he was stripped of his armor, Valorfist took another step back and looked up at the statue of Uther, standing heroically with a tome of knowledge in one hand and his paladin's hammer in the other._

_"Using the authority Uther has set forth, I call upon the power of the Holy Light to strip you of all your Light-given talents."_

_His hand glowed bright yellow, and he thrust it out at Jonas. The feeling the paladin next felt was a little strange. He felt a tingling sensation, and then thought that something was . . . exiting his body, leaving only emptiness in its wake. He looked at the spell and saw a steady stream of yellow light exiting his own body and entering Valorfist's hand. It wasn't painful, but he couldn't help but cry out._

_When he was done, Jonas could immediately feel the difference. It was as if the Light was no longer constantly residing in his own body. He tried his best to call upon its holy powers, but found nothing. Valorfist, content, took another step back and nodded at MacDonnell. "Finish it."_

_The priestess reluctantly stepped forward. "As a representative of the Church of the Holy Light, I hereby dismiss you from our service due to aiding and helping knowingly-evil creatures. May you still find the Light, even if its no longer in our cathedral."_

_Jonas looked up at her and smiled. "Don't worry, it's not your fault."_

_MacDonnell covered her mouth and turned away. Valorfist put one comforting hand on her shoulder before walking away, whispering to Jonas on his way out, "Don't ever show your face to the Argent Dawn again, you hear me?"_

_Jonas gave a mock-salute. "Yes, sir . . ."_

_He spent the rest of his day wandering the Western Plaguelands. He could no longer feel the power of the Light in him, but he still had the burning desire to cleanse the land of the undead. On his way back to Felstone Field (really knowing nowhere else to go), Jonas saw the camp and banner of the Scarlet Crusade in the distance._

_Seeing the crimson red-and-white banner, Jonas knew what he now had to do . . ._

* * *

><p>Replacing the Church with the Crusade.<p>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	17. The Syndicate

To Balean, now. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>17: The Syndicate<span>**

" . . . I was taken over to Hearthglen, just north of the camp," Jonas said, the fire creating a myriad of shadows dancing off his face. "During my internment, I found that the Light hadn't _completely_ abandoned me, but it wasn't the same. I boarded the recruitment convoy a month later and showed up at the monastery."

Balean shook his head, saying, "Sounds like a waste on the Argent Dawn's part, but a gain for us, I suppose. Don't worry; I don't think the Crusade would kick you out for doing what you did."

"They wouldn't," replied Jonas. "They're much more in-tune with my idea of delivering justice to the Light—seeing the death of any undead as a victory."

Danthor nodded. "Sorry for what you had to go through."

The paladin flashed him a candid grin. "Don't worry about it. I saw it as a learning experience. 'Sides, I'm happy here now."

Lethella looked from her high vantage point to check on both Garren's Haunt and Agamand Mills. "So far so good, and no sign of reinforcements yet."

"Time for another tale, then," Balean said. "I think I'll go next. I grew up in the kingdomof Lordaeron, in the area that would now be known as—and as I'm sure Jonas here can attest—the Western Plaguelands."

Jonas nodded.

"I was old enough to understand what was going on as the undead started taking over my home," Balean continued. "Tired of living in fear, I moved south to the AlteracMountainswith a group of bandits made up of my childhood friends. I was pretty skilled with the bow, so I fit in just fine. Soon enough, we were approached by a group called the Syndicate, apparently made up of former nobles of the destroyed kingdomof Alterac. Anyways, they offered us a place in their ranks and decided to take them up on their offer."

Kojak barked.

"We were taken to the Syndicate's leader in his mansion at Dandred's Fold in northern Alterac. He started by asking us:

— — —

_"Who the fuck are you?"_

_The leader of the Syndicate looked forty, had gray hair tied into two ponytails that rested on both of his shoulders, and a gray moustache. He wore silver chain mail with a single spaulder resting on his left shoulder. Surprisingly enough, he wore a tabard of Stormwind on him. He was equipped with a sword and shield that bore his family crest upon it._

_Balean looked back towards his friends—Mike, Dresnor, Kojak, Tommy, and Joseph—who all expectedly looked back at him. Apparently, since he was the one who formed their little hunting group, he was seen as their leader. Well, it's not like he wasn't used to talking people's ears off anyway._

_"My name's Balean Orthel," he said, "and the six of us are roaming hunters from the up north."_

_"Do you know who I am?"_

_Balean nodded. "You're Aliden Perenolde, leader of the Syndicate. As hunters and bandits ourselves, we've heard a lot about you."_

_Aliden grinned, pleased that they've heard of them. "You said you come from the north? Tell me, what's your opinion on the undead?"_

_"We hate them," he said flatly. "Scourge and Forsaken both, they were responsible for the destruction of all of our homes. That's why we banded together in the first place. It was the only way to survive."_

_Aliden turned around, looking out the rather large window of his house, overlooking all of Dandred's Fold, a lush strip of grass and trees surrounded on both sides by mountains. "I was supposed to be the heir of Alterac. Unfortunately, my bastard of a father was treacherous during the Second War, aligning ourselves with the Horde. We were found out and exiled from our kingdom by the Alliance."_

_Balean nodded. Aliden turned back around._

_"But I was able to round all of Alterac's citizens together and fight to try and take back our city," he continued. "Unfortunately, the Crushridge ogres who are in control of the ruins of Alterac and the Forsaken of Tarren Mill seem to have different ideas on the subject. So tell me, would you six be willing to aid us in our fight to regain what was rightfully mine?"  
>Balean looked at his five comrades, who all nodded at the same time. He looked back at Aliden. "Yes."<em>

_Lord Aliden Perenolde grinned, saying, "Good. We'll take you to Strahnbrad, where you'll get further instructions. Now get the hell out of my sight."_

_"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."_

— — —

_The town of Strahnbrad used to be an average town in Lordaeron. Eventually, though, it was taken over by the Syndicate as their main base of operations in the Alterac Mountains. It was south of Dandred's Fold and directly east of the ruins of Alterac—the remnants of the once-great human kingdom._

_The six bandits were escorted by three Syndicate guards (evidenced by the trademark yellow bandana they wear over their mouth and nose). Mike looked around at the land so full of life surrounding them and said, "Well, this certainly is a step up from our home, isn't it fellas?"_

_"It is strange that this place has been untouched by the plague," Tommy said._

_"Just give it time," stated Dresnor. "Soon, this place will fall, just like the rest of Lordaeron has."_

_"A cheery outlook from you, as always," mocked Joseph. "I wouldn't say that definitively, especially since it seems to have a number of factions already vying for control." He motioned to the Syndicate guards._

_Kojak shrugged at all of this. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. I, for one, am just happy to be a part of something bigger than the six of us." He looked at Balean. "No offense."_

_"None taken," he said. "I'm glad, too. Our lives won't be as uncertain now, that's for sure."_

"Good enough for me," claimed Mike. "You think the Syndicate has some women in their ranks?"

The group laughed at this, and continued their path onward . . .

_Their good cheer was diminished, however, when they saw the sorry state Strahnbrad was in. The town was completely run-down; something they'd expect from a town controlled by the undead. Still, the town was swarming with Syndicate men. The six bandits were led to the town square (marked by a broken water fountain) and told to go to the town hall, where the "Baron" lived._

_The "Baron" in question introduced himself as Baron Vardus. He was a balding man with a beard who dressed rather nicely compared to his roguish counterparts. That, along with his title, indicated that he was a former noble of Alterac._

_"Welcome to Strahnbrad," he said. "Staging point for our quest to regain our kingdom from the ogres. If you would be so kind as to tell us your previous occupation?"_

_"Rogue," said Mike, Joseph, and Tommy._

_"Mage," said Dresnor._

_"Warrior," said Kojak._

_"Hunter," said Balean._

_Vardus grinned. "A varied bunch, as I can see. Unfortunate we have to split you up."_

_"Split us up?" asked Balean._

_The baron nodded. "Yes, it's Syndicate policy, you see. Whenever a new group of bandits or what have you joins our fold, we split them up. Gets them more used to their new comrades instead of just sticking around with the old ones."_

_"You mean so we don't get any bright ideas that could threaten you if we stuck together," Balean said._

_"Yes," responded Vardus flatly. "Whatever the reason, it must be done, I'm afraid. The hunter and warrior shall stay with me here." He pointed to Dresnor and Joseph. "You two shall be sent to Stromgarde in the Arathi Highlands under Lord Falconcrest." He pointed to Mark and Tommy. "And you two shall be sent to Durnholde Keep in the Hillsbrad Foothills under Jailors Esten and Marlgen."_

_"Now hold on a sec," Balean said, taking a step forward. "We weren't told that we'd be split up if we joined—"_

_He stopped as Kojak put his hand on his shoulder. "Don't do this," he whispered. This surprised Balean. Of all his friends, he would've expected Kojak to be the first to draw his weapon and protest. "We'll be fine no matter where we go. Besides, it's not like we can get out of this easily."_

_Balean looked back at his friends for confirmation. They all nodded in agreement with the warrior. Understanding, Balean stepped back._

_"Good," Vardus said, rubbing his hands together. "Well then, those who I said wouldn't stay here shall be sent to your new leaders. It was nice seeing you."_

_Mike, Joseph, Tommy, and Dresnor all gave one last look at Balean and Kojak (who were to stay behind) before being escorted away by the Syndicate guards._

_When they were gone, Vardus looked at Balean and said, "Don't worry. Even though they're not here, they'll still be helping out the Syndicate."_

_"What a relief," said Balean, his voice dripping with sarcasm._

_"Go to the blacksmith and talk to the owner," Vardus said. "He'll give you the proper weapons and armor. After that, ask what needs to be done, and he'll tell you what to do. Oh, and one more thing . . ."_

_Balean and Kojak turned around._

_"You're under my command now. Don't forget that."_

_They both nodded and left._

— — —

_Over the next few months, Balean and Kojak carried out the orders they were given faithfully. Mostly it involved robbing caravans and collecting tax money from the smaller towns in the region under the "protection" of the Syndicate. Neither of the two had a particular taste for it (despite previously calling themselves bandits), handling it more with an indifferent attitude._

_The two of them had risen in prominence amongst the members of Strahnbrad due to their skill, but it was Balean who really got most of the attention. He theorized it was because anyone who could skillfully use a crossbow was rare in the Syndicate, while a skilled warrior was much more common._

_Balean and Kojak were childhood friends since their infancy, and as a result they never got too close to anyone else in the Syndicate, preferring to stick to themselves. The two have always had a friendly rivalry, which shows best when they often engaged in training together in their downtime. _

_It was one day during such a time:_

_"Come on, show me what you've got," Balean said, loading up a crossbow bolt._

_Kojak twirled his sword expertly, striking up a fighting position. "Don't worry, I'll grant you mercy when you swiftly beg for it!"_

_The warrior rushed towards the hunter, who fired off an arrow. Kojak was able to strike it down with his sword and continue on. Not having time to reload, Balean brought his crossbow up like a blunt weapon and used it to clash with Kojak's sword. The two stood still, neither giving any ground as their weapons pushed against one another._

_"Lookin' a bit tired there," Balean said. "If you just give up, I won't torture you before I kill you."_

_Kojak laughed. "Hah, as if you had the guts to torture anyone, you big softy!"_

_"Enough!" they heard a voice say._

_The two disengaged from one another and turned to their side to see Baron Vardus standing there, his staff clasped firmly in his right hand. "What brings you here?" Balean asked._

_Vardus motioned for the two to come closer. When they were close enough for his liking, the baron whispered, "Orders from Lord Perenolde. We're preparing an assault on the Crushridge ogres to finally take back Alterac and kill their leader, Mug'thol. He asked me to choose my best members to lead, and I've chosen you two."_

_"Really?" asked Kojak._

_Vardus nodded. "You two have proved invaluable to our cause since you've been here. I can't think of anyone here more efficient or prepared for such a venture."_

_"Uhh, okay," said Balean. "So how many are we leading into battle?"_

_Vardus shrugged. "About fifty, all from Strahnbrad."_

_"Only fifty against the Crushridge ogres?" asked an incredulous Kojak. "Are you mad?"_

_The baron shook his head. "There's two known entrances to the ruins of Alterac. The first is a completely broken down gate which is easy to get through. The second is tightly locked and fully functioning, guarded by a few towers just to get to it. It's also very close to the castle Mug'thol is in. Your job will be to get to that gate and open it. You'll have at least a hundred more men waiting for you on the other side."_

_"So we're to serve as a decoy, then," Balean said._

_"In a manner of speaking. It's not like you have a choice in the matter. You know what we do to deserters. Besides, all you have to do is open the gate, and you're set."_

_"When does it start?"_

_Vardus looked up at the sky. "At nightfall. I'll introduce you to the men you'll be leading beforehand, then you'll march upon the city. Be happy, for tonight we take back what's ours, and you'll forever have a place within our walls."_

_"Sounds tempting," Kojak said._

_Balean just shrugged._

— — —

_The ruined city of Alterac was fundamentally different from the rest of the mountains. While Strahnbrad and everything else in the area has decent weather (if not slightly gloomy), the ruins are completely surrounded by mountains and are constantly covered in snow._

_The only way to get to the city is through a single path that could be taken from Strahnbrad. Kojak and Balean led their fifty or so men on this path, and when their boots hit snowfall (at a place called Gallows' Corner), they knew they were close. _

_Balean readjusted his orange bandana, saying, "The reinforcements should be gathering soon. We'd better hurry if we don't wanna be seen together."_

_Kojak nodded, and they moved on. They passed by a destroyed tower with no problem. If there were any ogres guarding so far away from their main stronghold, they'd no doubt be sleeping or drunk off their ass (or both) at this point. Their main fighting force was made up of rogues and warriors, and they knew how to be stealthy when the situation called for it._

_The path ended at a sizeable hill deep into the territory. So far, they'd had no trouble with ogre patrols, but everyone knew that'd change when they entered the city. Still, the majority of the ogres would be sleeping, and the few guarding and patrolling they could take out with ease, getting to the door and letting the hundred men take care of it from there. _

_That was the plan, anyway._

_Hanging a left, they could see the gate in sight. It truly was a disaster, with the two heavy wooden doors being blown right off their hinges, showing the inside of the snow-covered city completely. Using his superior eyesight, Balean saw two guards standing on the battlements keeping watch. Directly inside was a few torched houses and camps where a large group of ogres slept. If things went right, they'd be easy prey._

_Kneeling down, Balean said to his men, "Alright, listen up. The guards don't see us yet, so I'm gonna go alone and snipe them down. I'll then come back and we can move in silently, killing any sleeping ogres in our way. Remember, our goal is the door. Got it?"_

_The group nodded. Balean moved._

_He got a good distance away from his men when he saw a lone dog standing in the middle of the path between him and the guards. Stopping dead in his tracks, he inspected the animal. He was pretty big, but lean, with brown-colored fur. He looked wild by the looks of him. Probably native to the mountains._

_"Go away!" Balean said in a hushed whisper as the dog watched him quizzically, his tongue lolling out. "Get the hell outta here!"_

_The dog tilted its head, as if it didn't comprehend the question. _

_"Come on, get!" continued the hunter. _

_The dog wouldn't move. Balean took out his crossbow, aiming for him. He stood there for several seconds, his finger on the trigger, ready to kill the dog that was just standing there. Too much was at risk._

Come on, just do it!_ he urged himself. _I know it's a helpless animal, but this is more important. Do it, damn it!

_Sighing, he brought his crossbow down. Being a hunter and tracker by trade, he could never bring himself to harm a helpless animal. It's been something that's been with him since birth._

_The dog responded with a resounding bark._

* * *

><p>Trouble . . .<p>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	18. A Man's Best Friend

A single bark to blow their initiative. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>18: A Man's Best Friend<span>**

_The dog let off three more barks before Balean was completely aware of what happened. By this time, Kojak appeared behind the hunter, asking, "What the hell's going on?"_

_Balean was frozen in place, the dog continuing to let loose its loud, guttural sounds. From his distance, he could see the two ogre guards look at each other, then leave their post to move closer to the source of the noise. At this point, the sleeping ogres near the door were waking up, and all hope of a subtle infiltration was lost._

_Preparing his crossbow, he fired a quick shot at one of the two ogres coming close, hitting him right in his head. He went down instantly. Balean turned back to Kojak and said, "Change of plan. Go get the men and let them know that we'll be fighting our way to the gate!"_

_Kojak nodded, drew his sword, and went back around the corner to the fifty Syndicate fighters. Balean got off another quick shot for the closest ogre before he heard the rousing cries of the Crushridge ogres, alerted, awake, and fully prepared for battle._

_The Syndicate soldiers came around the corner, led by Kojak. They clearly weren't prepared for the sight they saw—that of at least ten towering ogres rushing towards them. Balean turned towards his men and pointed to the oncoming ogres, saying, "We're getting to that gate one way or another! Fight as if your life depends on it, because it does!"_

_He turned back around and fire another shot, this one hitting an ogre right in the heart. He stopped, held his wounded chest, then fell onto his back._

_"Charge!"_

_The Syndicate men gave a fearsome battle cry, drawing their weapons and rushing towards the oncoming ogres. The dog was still barking, caught right in the middle of the two oncoming forces. The ogres got to it first, and, tired of its incessant noise, smashed it aside with a massive club. The dog gave one whimpering cry before flying several feet away in the cold snow._

_Balean didn't have time to notice as he loosed another shaft at an ogre. It hit him in the shoulder. Close, but not enough to bring him down. He and Kojak were the first to meet them, skillfully dodging their first strike with a club. Kojak countered by slicing his leg, bringing him down on one knee. Without wasting a movement, he cut the ogres throat, sending him sprawling to the ground—a joyful cry of battle escaping his lips as he did so._

_Balean gave off one more shot, hitting the closest ogre in the eye. He went down with a single grunt. Now too close to get off any good shots, he strapped his crossbow to his back and drew his two one-handed axes. With a battle cry, he rushed towards one of them and slammed it right into his stomach. The ogre cried out, gripping his bleeding wound. Balean hit him in the arm, then the leg. Without a show, he went down._

_The two forces were clashing completely now. The rogues drew their daggers and used their superior agility to skillfully dodge the slow ogres' strikes, striking at opportune spots with poisoned blades. Some of the more acrobatic rogues were able to leap up on some of their backs and plunge their daggers into their necks, bringing them down for the count._

_The warriors used more traditional strikes, slashing and hacking at any opportunity they could have. Some of the stronger ones could block their opponent's attacks with their shields, while some who tried were tossed several feet away. Still, they were effective in a large number, and the Syndicate certainly had the advantage in numbers for this first wave._

_The last ogre went down quickly. The men cheered at this, and Balean looked around, counting around five of his own men dead. Five for the ogre's thirteen wasn't a bad trade-off, but he knew things were about to get a lot worse. They'd lost their cover, and they'd be paying for it soon. The men stopped their cheering when they heard an even louder chant coming from inside the ruins:_

"Who kills every kid and man?  
>Crushridge Clan!<br>Who burns just because they can?  
>Crushridge Clan!<br>Rip 'em up, slice 'em up, beat 'em to a pulp:  
>Will they win? Will they live? We say nope!<br>Kick 'em, hit 'em, listen to their moans,  
>Spill their blood and crack their bones!<br>Who just charges in without a plan?  
>The Ogres of the Crushridge Clan!"<p>

_"Move, now!" Balean commanded, loading another arrow into his crossbow. "We've gotta get to that gate!"_

_The men all moved quickly, with Balean and Kojak in the lead. The warrior looked at his companion and asked, "You think we really have a chance?"_

_Balean shook his head. "Not in hell, but that doesn't mean we can't try! Besides, would you rather turn tail now?"_

_Kojak grinned ferociously. "You couldn't drag me away from here. Who could ask for a better opponent than ogres?"_

_"My thoughts exactly!"_

_The ruins of Alterac were exactly what their name entailed: ruins. All the buildings were either run-down, destroyed, burned, or a strange mix of all three. Still, it was clearly habitable, as a large amount of ogres were marching through the streets, ready for battle. _

_Balean strained his eyes to look to past the oncoming army, and could only barely see the gate he was talking about. It was right next to the only thing that looked relatively well cared for, the castle of Alterac. Yet standing between them and the gate were at least fifty ogres. The frontrunner leading them was a blue ogre with a spiked mace named Glommus. Balean recognized him as one of Mug'thol's (the leader of the Crushridge Clan) lieutenants. _

_He fired an arrow, which hit Glommus in his leg. He stopped for a second, winced, then pulled the arrow out with ease, snapping it between his massive fingers. He grinned, pointed at the Syndicate, and yelled, "Slaughter them all!"_

_"Focus on getting to the gate!" Balean yelled to his men. "And try not to die as well!"_

_Balean and Kojak led the charge yet again, their weapons at the ready. Balean loosed two shafts, both killing blows, before switching over to his melee weapons. They both struck with a vengeance, eviscerating their first few targets. Balean was feeling fine, dodging blows and striking when it was most opportune. That feeling quickly faded when he was struck in the head with a blunt mace._

_The strike sent him flying backwards several feet, landing right in the middle of the charging Syndicate members. It took him a few seconds to get up, shaking his head and feeling warm blood trickle down the side of his face. He felt woozy, but moved forward with his men anyway._

_In their assault against the first wave, the Syndicate had the significant advantages of numbers and preparedness. Here, they had neither, and it showed quickly. The men were mauled down viciously by the ogres of superior size and strength. The rogues did fairly well, but when they were surrounded, they stood no chance; while the warriors struck with power and endurance, but eventually fell under their blows._

_Balean found himself in the middle of the fray yet again, getting struck in his right leg, ribs, and shoulder. (He would later account this to his head wound throwing him off.) Still, he took down a few ogres when he had the chance. After slitting one's throat, he looked ahead and saw the gate was still incredibly far away—they had barely gained ten feet of ground. In fact, the closest one was Kojak, who was a good distance ahead of everyone else, slicing and dicing every ogre in his sight._

_When he saw one Crushridge ogre alone knock three Syndicate men away, he knew the battle had been lost. At least twenty were killed in this battle alone, and any hope they had of reaching that gate was completely lost. With a heavy heart, he finally yelled: "Retreat! Fall back to the base!"_

_His men, most of who were injured in some form, were all too happy to follow his orders, quickly pulling away from the fight and heading back towards the gate. Balean looked up ahead to Kojak, laughing out loud as he still fought mercilessly, covered in what must have been a dozen wounds._

_"Kojak, did you hear me?" the hunter yelled. "Fall back!"_

_The warrior was fighting Glommus and had just blocked his mace strike with his shield. He looked back at his friend and yelled, "Don't worry about me, buddy! I'll hold 'em off while you guys escape! I'll catch up to you later!"_

_"Don't be an idiot!" Balean called back, slamming both his axes into an ogre's chest. "You'll never make it if you keep fighting!"_

_"Then I guess I'll see you in hell!" Kojak cried back, jamming his sword right into Glommus's chest. The lieutenant was killed instantly. As he fell, the warrior looked at his lifelong friend and grinned. "Besides, this weather's perfect to die in! Take care, old friend!"_

_The warrior turned back around and continued fighting with the ogres who now had him surrounded. It appears that after seeing their leader fall in battle, they all turned their attention to him, letting the Syndicate men go completely. Balean could hear the joy in Kojak's voice as he fought off so many enemies, but he quickly disappeared from his sight._

_"KOJAK!"_

_No response. Balean wouldn't let his sacrifice go in vain. Reluctantly, he drew back and left the ruins of Alterac. The mission was a failure, and he was bleeding from a dozen different places. The night winds had kicked up, stinging his face. He looked around to see if he could find any of his men, but he found none. Assuming they all fled back to Strahnbrad (and really, who could blame them?), Balean moved towards the locked gate on the other side of the kingdom to let the hundred men waiting that it was over. No need to lose any more lives, he thought . . ._

— — —

_"Grahahaha, stupid puny humans actually thought they could beat us!" Mug'thol said to his ogre bodyguards, kicking at a Syndicate body._

_Balean came to the other end of the kingdom to find a massacre. Apparently, the leader of the Crushridge ogres learned of the hundred men waiting at his doorstep, so he decided to take immediate action. He doubted if there were any survivors; he didn't see any on his way there, anyway._

_Still, there was something he could do._

_Drawing his crossbow, he loaded an arrow, aiming for Mug'thol. He was easy to spot, being the only ogre with a gemstone-covered crown placed awkwardly on his head. He didn't have enough strength to outrun the ogres once they spotted him, but he didn't care. Better to die in battle like Kojak than to return to disgrace._

_He was about to fire the shot when he heard a whimpering sound behind him. Turning around, he saw none other than that dog from earlier limp towards him. The ogre strike had hurt him badly, it seemed, as he was bruised and bleeding all over the place._

_"Damned dog!" he cursed, aiming his crossbow at him instead. Better to put him out of his misery. "You're the reason everything got so fucked up!"_

_The dog didn't comprehend, tilting its head at the hunter. Slowly, he limped towards Balean, unafraid of the bow aimed at him._

Kill him!_ he thought. _Kill him, then kill Mug'thol! He's just a damned mutt! He's the reason Kojak is dead!

_But he couldn't. No matter how mad he was, he couldn't bring himself to shoot the poor animal in front of him. Putting his crossbow away, he kneeled down (a painful task) and held his hand out. The dog tentatively licked it, then got bolder and started licking Balean's face._

_"You stupid mutt," he said, despite the fact that he was smiling. He couldn't help it; a dog always made him smile. He picked him up and started walking away from the ruins. "Come on, can't just abandon you, can I? I'll get you all fixed up."_

_The dog kept licking his face, seemingly pleased._

_Balean stifled a little laugh, and looked down at the dog. "You know," he said, "you kind of remind me of someone. I always used to make fun of him and say he looked like a dog, and I wasn't too far from the truth. Whaddya say? Do you mind if I call you Kojak?"_

_The dog had no objections._

— — —

_"Oh, you stupid son of a bitch!"_

_Lord Aliden Perenolde kicked the floored Balean in the stomach again, causing him to cough in pain. He delivered a few more kicks before he was through, then turned him onto his back and looked at him straight in the face._

_"Do you know how much you cost me?" he asked. "A hundred and thirty men, that's how much! And then you have the _balls_ to walk back to Strahnbrad three days later and not expect us to react? If so, you're a fuckin' idiot!"_

_He stomped on Balean's chest to further illustrate the point._

_Balean had spent the last three days with Kojak (the dog), using some tricks he'd picked up as a tracker to help heal some of the dogs wounds, as well as his own. When it seemed like Kojak was fit enough to move on his own, Balean let him go, telling him to go and live however he wanted. As for him? He had to get back to Strahnbrad and own up to what had happened._

_Kojak seemed sad at this, having bonded with the hunter over the last three days. Balean felt the same way. He never _really_ blamed Kojak for what had happened. He was just doing what all wild animals do, and you can't blame nature. Still, they had to move on, and Balean and Kojak went separate ways._

_When he came back, he found Baron Vardus and an angry Perenolde—having come down to await news of the assault—waiting for him. The two knew everything by this point, and before Balean could get a word in, he was on the ground bleeding from Aliden._

_Balean was forced up by the baron, who then delivered a punch to his stomach. "Your actions have cost us any chance of taking our kingdom back!"_

_"Told you . . ." he said through the blood in his mouth. "Got our cover blown . . . not our fault."_

_"Oh, we've heard all about that," said Aliden. "Got discovered by a wild dog, we've heard. Well what were you doing for the past three days then? Living in the wild like an animal?"_

_"Something like that . . ."_

_This angered Aliden beyond any measure. He delivered one last punch to Balean's face before moving towards the door, saying to Vardus, "I'm going back to the Fold. Vardus, show this fool what we do to those who are stupid enough to desert!"_

_"Yes, sir."_

_As Aliden left, Vardus tied Balean to a rope hanging from the ceiling, holding his arms upwards. His shirt was ripped off as the baron took out a flaming rod from the fireplace. The rod turned out to be a branding iron, with the word "S" at the edge._

_"You've cost me a lot of credibility," Vardus said, bringing the iron closer to Balean's back. "This oughta teach ya to never make a mistake again!"_

_He brought the iron on Balean's lower back, causing him to cry out in pain. Vardus held the iron there for several seconds as the hunter shook around in pain, his head lolling back and forth. Finally, he released the iron, causing Balean to go limp. There forever would be an "S" marked on his back—a reminder of his failure._

_Vardus threw the iron away, moving to Balean's front. He tilted his head up and said, "Normally I'd leave it at that. But you've screw up big time, Orthel! So I'm gonna take my time to let you know just how badly you've fucked up, and then I'm gonna kill ya!"_

_Balean couldn't talk, but managed to spit directly into the baron's face. He wiped it away and punched Balean in his stomach again. As the hunter went limp again, Vardus moved towards his own personal weapon rack, marveling at the plethora of bladed weapons he had._

_"Hmm, which should I choose? Ah, this one seems good." He pulled out a rusted dagger and moved back to his bound prisoner. "Alright, where should I start first? The face or che—"_

_An artillery shell hit the side of the baron's house, severing the rope hanging from the ceiling and sending both Balean and Vardus to the ground. At Strahnbrad, the Forsaken had begun their assault on the town, intent on taking it for their own. _

_"DEATH TO THE LIVING!" they cried as their siege cannons fired off several shots into the town._

_Balean was barely aware of what was happening, but still had faster reflexes than the disoriented baron. Grabbing the knife (despite the fact that his hands were bound in front of him), he pinned Vardus to the ground, holding it to his throat. Fear shone in Vardus's eyes as he looked at the vengeful and bloodied face of the hunter. Without a word of exchange between them, Balean slit the baron's throat._

_He collapsed on the floor, content with letting the chaos descend around him. Outside, Syndicate men were fleeing for their lives, no match for the trained Forsaken soldiers._

_Then, he heard a bark._

_Lifting his dazed head up, he saw Kojak burst through the hole caused by the shell, sprinting towards Balean. "Kojak . . . __?"_

_Kojak barked and immediately went to work knowing and biting at the rope that bound Balean's hands. He broke through them in a matter of seconds, barking once again to get his master's approval. Laughing, Balean patted the dog on the head, summoning all the strength he could to stand up. _

_He grabbed his weapons at the corner of Vardus's house and looked at his new best friend. "Alright, alright, I get the message." Loading an arrow into the crossbow, he and Kojak left the house and went into the Strahnbrad battleground. "Let's get the hell outta here . . ."_

* * *

><p>Leaving the Syndicate for good.<p>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	19. The Kirin Tor's Maverick

With Balean's tale now told . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>19: The Kirin Tor's Maverick<span>**

". . . We managed to slip past everyone in the confusion of the attack," Balean said. "I only later discovered that Kojak never left me. He secretly followed me and waited on the outskirts of Strahnbrad, hoping I would come back. When the Forsaken attacked, I guess he figured it was the best time to come and see me. He tracked me by sense of smell."  
>He patted Kojak on the head, who was panting by the fire.<p>

"We spent the next few years as hunters and trackers. I was intent on finding the rest of my friends and freeing them from the Syndicate. Mike, Dresnor, Joseph, Tommy."

"And?" inquired Danthor.

Balean looked down, not answering for a few seconds. Then: "We first made it to Durnholde Keep in the Hillsbrad Foothills to the south. By the time we got there, it was completely destroyed by the Forsaken and being converted into their own base. I never found Mark or Tommy . . . We next went to Stromgarde in the Arathi Highlands to the east, but it was the same deal. The Syndicate were defeated by the Forsaken, and I found no trace of Dresnor or Joseph."

"I'm sorry . . ." Lethella managed to say.

"Don't be," Balean said. "Kojak and I were depressed and angry as hell. So we decided to take out our frustrations through more conventional means. We went back to theAlteracMountainsto deal out justice. It took a long time, but eventually Mug'thol and Perenolde got what they deserved."

His voice was truly chilling as he said that.

"Aiming at the undead next, we moved back to the Western Plaguelands," he continued. "That's where I came across the Scarlet Crusade, and decided they were the best chance I had at getting back my home _and_ getting revenge against the Forsaken. So, here I am now."

"So, do you still have . . ." started Jonas, unsure of how to proceed. " . . . You know?"

Balean looked at the paladin quizzically. Then, he suddenly got it. "Oh, yeah. It won't leave me until I die."

He stood up and turned around, lifting up his shirt to reveal the branded S on his lower back. Everyone looked at it in amazement. Danthor never imagined the usually cheery and upbeat Balean (and Kojak, for that matter) had gone through such a horrible past.

Sitting back down, the hunter glanced back over at the Haunt and Mills. Still seeing nothing, he set his sights on Danthor and Lethella. "Alright, who's next?"

The two looked at each other for a time. The three crusaders didn't expect the battle mage to so easily talk about her past, but they would be damned if they didn't want to _know_. Danthor looked over at Jonas and Balean, and they seemed to have the same idea on the subject. Shrugging, the warrior said, "Alright, I'll go."

Lethella looked at him with surprise on her face, yet said nothing.

And Danthor told his tale . . .

— — —

Still no sign of the Crusade.

_Just what the hell is taking them so long?_ Danthor thought as he was finishing up his tale (which was the shortest of the three so far). Jonas threw another piece of wood on the depleted fire, sparks shooting up as the fire crackled with glee.

"Another human tragedy wrought by the hands of the undead," he said solemnly. "I'm sorry, Danthor."

"I am too . . ." was all the warrior responded with. Bringing up such painful (and recent) memories hadn't been easy for him.

It seemed like their tale telling was at an end. Danthor's story about the death of his mother and sister seemed to be the final nail in the coffin. Then, they heard Lethella say: "I was once a member of the Kirin Tor."

The three of them looked at her immediately. She was busy staring into the fire, herself, but they dared not say anything, lest they break the spell that had come over the usually cold battle mage and stopped her story immediately.

"It was my first year in Dalaran, the capital of magic east of the kingdom of Alterac," she continued. "I was incredibly lucky to join such an organization of magic users, but at that time the Kirin Tor would allow any human with the smallest affinity for the arcane to live in their city and study under them. I wasn't _officially_ let into the organization—the Kirin Tor had to make sure of your abilities and allegiance before offering you to join—but back then if you were studying magic in Dalaran, you were pretty much considered a member. That idea quickly changed after a maverick mage rocked the core of the organization with his actions . . ."

— — —

_"There's generally eight classified types of magic in the world today," Archmage Kel'Thuzad said to his fifteen or so students in the room. "Arcane, druidism, fel, geomancy, voodoo, shamanism, and the Light."_

_The aged wizard still had a charismatic charm to him, something rare amongst the mages of the Kirin Tor. He had shoulder-length gray hair that was parted down the middle to frame his world-weary, yet still exuberant face. He was dressed every inch the magic-user, with a red robe complimented by gray and black, regal red shoulderpads (of the same design as the robe), and an iron staff characterized by a floating polished stone floating at the tip. He wore the purple tabard of the Kirin Tor, of course, with the golden eye placed right in the center of it._

_"Arcane magic is the most commonly-used form," Kel'Thuzad stated, "and the type of magic practiced here at Dalaran. It draws upon the energies present in the atmosphere and can take form however the mage wants, be it fire, frost, what have you. Druidism is characterized by a strong bond of nature and is practiced by the night elves, who use its power to transform into animals."_

_There were only humans present in the room, no night elves._

_"Fel magic is used by demons, mostly those in the Burning Legion. It's merely a corruption of arcane magic and is devastatingly addictive to the user. Geomancy calls upon the elements to use its magic, while the Light is used for healing and protective purposes." He paused for a second. "As for runic, shamanistic, and voodoo magic, we're still trying to figure out all of those ourselves, so there's no point in explaining it here."_

_The class gave a little chuckle. Lethella Borman, only seventeen, knew that Kel'Thuzad was an archmage and had command over most of the mages, but she (or anyone else for that matter) never knew that he was a member of the Six, the rulers of all of Dalaran. Still, she was glad to be under the tutelage of such a renowned wizard._

_Lethella grew up in the Hillsbrad Foothills, just south of the Alterac Mountains. She grew up on a successful farm, but never cared for tilling the land. Her interest lied in reading books and magic—two things she was naturally skilled at. Where she came from, most were expected to become farmers and carry the torch of their parents, so magic-users were rare. _

_Growing up, she naturally had an interest in the Kirin Tor, the largest collection of mages in the world. It was her dream to one day join the organization, but from her position in life it seemed nearly impossible. What kept her going was the famous tale of Kel'Thuzad, another resident of the Foothills. He too was skilled in magic, so when he was old enough he followed his dream and travelled to the magical city in the north. And now he was Hillsbrad's pride and joy, having gained such prestige in the world; coming from _their_ lands, by the gods!_

_Seeking to emulate Kel'Thuzad's feats, Lethella packed and left the farm at seventeen to travel north. It wasn't an easy trip, but she eventually found herself at Dalaran, and, to her surprise, was allowed to study under them in the city. And now she was in the same room as her role model, _learning_ from him!_

_Kel'Thuzad paused for several seconds, standing perfectly still. After a while, the students started to wonder what was going on. Tentatively, the mage next to Lethella named Belmor tentatively raised his hand. "Archmage? Are you okay?"_

_This seemed to snap Kel'Thuzad out of it, as he shook his head and smiled his charismatic smile. "Of course. I was just about to talk about a _ninth_ form of magic that exists, one that most people just like to ignore."_

_Lethella leaned in to hear._

_"This type of magic first became known by the orc warlocks," he explained. "It channels and manipulates the arcane, similar to fel magic, but in a different form. It's known as necromancy, and focuses on breaking down the barriers between life and death. It's a powerful variant of magic, and was used to devastate the land during the First and Second Wars. Unfortunately, there are many who would like to believe its power is gone forever, when it's not."_

_This time, Lethella raised her hand. "Why is this type of magic so feared?"_

_Kel'Thuzad shrugged. "Because people fear what they don't understand, and the truth is we know little about how it works or how to defend against it; what's even worse is that we're so _unwilling_ to learn about it. I fear that if we don't come to understand it soon, more warlocks will come and we'll have little defense against its vast power."_

_A mage named Eniria raised her hand. "Is it possible to be taught this magic?"_

_Kel'Thuzad's brown eyes swept across the entirety of the classroom. After a sigh, he said, "Not here, I'm afraid."_

— — —

_When training new and hopeful mages in Dalaran, the Kirin Tor likes to allow its students to explore and discover things on their own. Thus, it's common practice to have an archmage teach students about the basics of magic, and then allow them to explore the endless possibilities involving it, be it studying, researching, sparring, et cetera; often with an archmage around to help them in their endeavors. In their opinion, it's the best way to see if a mage is worthy of officially joining their ranks._

_As for Lethella, she went straight to the practice arena in the city, intent on increasing her skills in magic. She had read all about different magical techniques from her time spent studying magic in her youth, yet she was never quite able to pull them off, so she was going to practice until she got them just right._

_The practice arena was circular, with targeting dummies set up on all sides. Currently, Lethella, Belmor, and Eniria were practicing their magic, with Archmage Yorem—a young, tall human mage—overseeing their practice._

_"Alright, Lethella," Yorem said, pointing to a dummy several feet away. "Use a fireball to hit it in the chest."_

_Lethella closed her eyes and held out her hand, concentrating. Using the power of arcane magic, she tried to draw in the energies in the atmosphere and change it into a fireball, but so far nothing was happening. After several more strained seconds, a small ball of fire appeared in her hand. Smiling, she held it there and aimed her arm towards the dummy. Using all her concentration, she threw the fireball towards the dummy._

_It faded away into nothing before it got halfway there._

_Lethella sighed and shook her head. "Don't worry about it," Yorem said with a smile. "It's not as easy as it looks."_

_"But I read all about how it should work," retorted Lethella. "Yet I still can't seem to get it right!"_

_"Using magic isn't as easy as a book makes it out to be," stated Yorem._

_Lethella turned towards him. "But I _should_ be good at it! If I can't even get the basics down, how am I supposed to officially join the Kirin Tor and become as powerful as someone like Kel'Thuzad?"_

_"The archmage stood there for a second, then snapped his fingers. "Tell ya what, try it again, only this time try summoning a frostbolt instead."_

_Lethella looked at him quizzically, but finally nodded and closed her eyes, holding her arm out yet again. She drew upon the powers around her to try and manipulate their energy into a ball of ice, and surprisingly, it came to her almost instantly. She looked up at the three mages watching and smiled. Aiming at the dummy, she threw the frostbolt right at it, and it flew straight and true, hitting the dummy right in the chest._

_Yorem, Belmor, and Eniria clapped for her. "See," Yorem said, "it's not that hard. We just had to figure out what type of element you were best at using. It seems like your strength lies in the power of frost."_

_"You can be more skilled in one type than another?" she asked. She'd never read about that._

_Yorem nodded. "Arcane magic is broken down into three main categories: fire, frost, and arcane—a combination of fire, water, and air. Some are just more suited to a specific type than others. For example, I'm more skilled in arcane magic."_

_"Fire seems to be my strong suit," Belmor said, summoning a small fireball in his hand._

_"While mine is also arcane," Eniria added._

_Yorem laughed. "Together, you three make the perfect mage, skilled in all three forms of arcane magic." He noticed the sun was starting to set, and motioned for the exit. "Come on, that's enough for today. We can continue this some other time."_

_Lethella shook her head. "No, I wanna keep practicing using frost magic."_

_"Us too," Belmor and Eniria said at the same time, turning back towards the target dummies._

_Yorem ran a hand through his thick hair and smiled. "Ambitious, aren't you? I like it; you remind me of myself at your age. Alright, let's get back to work!"_

_The three practiced for a few more hours, intent on becoming stronger mages by the time the sun rose._

_And all went well until a few months later, when Kel'Thuzad returned from his research in the north._

* * *

><p>To have known <em>him<em> . . .

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	20. A Mage's Realization

Something distressing on the way . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>20: A Mage's Realization<span>**

_Archmage Antonidas, leader of the Council of Six and the Kirin Tor, stroked his long, white beard and sighed heavily. Archmages Drenden and Modera had returned from the north with a box containing what he had feared the most. Taking the box from their possession, Antonidas ordered the two to bring Kel'Thuzad to him before retiring into his own personal chambers to further inspect its contents . . ._

_Kel'Thuzad had returned from his research facility in northern Lordaeron upon the request of Archmage Antonidas, the only one he could call his superior within the Kirin Tor. He was right in the middle of a very important series of tests when he was called to come back to Dalaran immediately. He was allowed no room to argue; it was a direct order. This could only mean one thing._

_As he wandered down the streets of Dalaran towards the Violet Citadel, where the Six conduct all of their business, he came across three of his students walking out of a store: Lethella, Belmor, and Eniria._

_Lethella noticed her favorite teacher immediately and waved at him, saying, "Archmage Kel'Thuzad, nice seeing you here."_

_The aged wizard stopped and waved back. Looks like Drenden and Modera would have to wait a bit longer for him to show up. "Lethella, Eniria, Belmor, nice to see you here. Beautiful day, isn't it?"_

_The three fledgling mages nodded. "With all due respect, what are you doing here, archmage?" asked Belmor. "I thought you said you would be gone at least another month for your research."_

_"I was," Kel'Thuzad replied. "Unfortunately, others didn't see my work as that of vast importance, and I was called back here immediately. I'm on my way to a meeting with the grand magus himself."_

_"Oh," Eniria said. "I'm sorry about that. What is it they want that's so important?"_

_Kel'Thuzad just shrugged. "Can't really say—I'm about as confused as you are. Though if the old man himself wants me enough to pull me away from my important research, it must be to reprimand me in some way."_

_"Still the maverick wizard," Lethella said with a smile. "Well whatever it is they want, don't let them push you around. You're a great asset and your work is no doubt important. If they can't see that, then that's their fault."_

_A slow grin grew on Kel'Thuzad's face. "Yes, yes I suppose it is. Thanks for the advice. I'll see you all for classes very soon. Have a nice day."_

_"You as well," all three of them said before walking away._

_Kel'Thuzad's smile faded as soon as his students left, and he looked up at the Violet Citadel with grim determination. He knew exactly why Antonidas had called him, and quite frankly he didn't care. The voice had told him this day would eventually come, and he knew exactly what to do if indeed such a day had come to pass._

_Fortunately, the chance meeting with three of his most eager students made him think of another idea._

— — —

_They saw him sooner than they thought they would._

_Lethella, Belmor, and Eniria were attending a night class with Archmage Yorem. The classroom was the same one Kel'Thuzad used to teach, but this wasn't really that surprising, as the Kirin Tor had limited space in which to teach its new recruits, and often used the same room for multiple purposes (especially with Kel'Thuzad's increasingly lengthy absences to the north). This late at night, there were few students, but the ones who were there were the most dedicated to the craft of magic._

_The class was about halfway done, with Yorem teaching about a brief history on magic, when Kel'Thuzad opened the door and entered the room. Yorem stopped and looked at his superior. "Ah, Archmage Kel'Thuzad, how nice to see you here so soon. How is your research in the north going?"_

_"Bad." He glanced around the room, surveying all the students in it, then to his own personal desk. "The Council of Six has confiscated all of my research and plans to destroy it."_

_"What?" asked Yorem. Lethella shared his surprise. "They can't just do that to someone of your standing in the organization."_

_"They can when I'm no longer _in_ the organization. I was stripped of my rank and holdings not fifteen minutes ago." He moved past Yorem towards his desk, opening some drawers and looking for paperwork._

_"What? Why?" Lethella found herself asking._

_Kel'Thuzad looked up at the outspoken student, then quickly back to his desk. "They didn't like what I was researching and experimenting. They believed it to be . . . unnatural. I was given the choice to stop my research, or be banished from the Kirin Tor. Obviously, I chose the latter."_

_"Just what were you studying that was so bad?" inquired Belmor._

_Kel'Thuzad found the papers he was looking for. Straightening it out on his desk, he looked up and addressed the whole classroom. "It's called necromancy. The art of raising people from the dead. Ever since the orc warlocks used it, we've been living in ignorance of it, stupidly believing it would never be used again. I'm not so optimistic, so I was studying how to use it and counter it. The Six found some of my experiments on rats in my lab, and Archmage Antonidas gave me my choice."_

_"Just because they don't understand the magic, they saw it fit to banish you?" It was clear Eniria found this type of behavior reprehensible. "That's beyond idiotic!"_

_The class seemed to mutter in a general consensus. For some of them, their parents remember all too well the devastation the orc warlocks brought to their homeland. Kel'Thuzad was right, the Kirin Tor had no defense against such a form of magic, and it was clear they're making no effort to try and understand it now. Kel'Thuzad on the other hand . . ._

_A smile appeared on the archmage's face. "I'm glad to see I'm not the only one who shares such an opinion on the Council's antiquated ideas of what is and isn't permissible in terms of magic. Seeing as how I'm no longer welcome in this city, I'll soon be taking my leave, but I'd like to offer you a choice before I go."_

_"A choice?" asked Yorem._

_Kel'Thuzad nodded. "Yes. I see no reason why the Kirin Tor should be the _only_ magical organization we have, especially since they're so willing to silence those who disagree with them on certain subjects. Therefore, I'm planning on starting my own magical organization. We'd allow the free use and studies of all forms of magic—an organization not bound by such ancient ideals as this one. Therefore, I'd like to see if any of you were interested in helping such an endeavor."_

_The entire class was silent. A new magical organization to directly rival the Kirin Tor? It sounded so far-fetched, nearly impossible. Yet to be given a chance to be remembered in the annals of history for helping build what could be a great an unbound force in Azeroth was also incredibly tempting._

_Eniria was the first to stand up, saying, "I'd be honored to join you in such an organization."_

_Belmor nodded and joined her. "I would, as well."_

_Lethella Borman looked around as more and more students stood up, saying they were interested. A chance to work with her role model and inspiration was great, yet something also seemed to tell her to stay on her current path. She shook that thought away and rationalized that under Kel'Thuzad, she could learn all that the Kirin Tor had to offer and more. Besides, it's not like the Kirin Tor had offered for her to join their ranks, while Kel'Thuzad was offering her full membership right now—clearly he saw something in her. With his help, she could become a wizard of legends!_

_She was one of the last to stand up (including Archmage Yorem), but she eventually did. When Kel'Thuzad saw her stand, an insatiable smile appeared on his face. He was clearly pleased to see her joining his now-growing ranks._

_She was one of his favorite students, after all._

— — —

_The now-defected archmage managed to round up around fifty like-minded mages from the Kirin Tor before he made his bold leave from Dalaran. No doubt the organization was surprised to see so many young mages join someone who, in their opinion, was not a person to be trusted, but they were powerless to stop them from leaving of their own accord._

_Kel'Thuzad took them south into the Hillsbrad Foothills. He told them that he needed to turn in some paperwork (what he had taken from his desk) at the town of Southshore, where he had grown up. The paperwork in question was to make sure and finalize that no one could touch his vast amount of wealth. His bold declaration of starting another magical organization had, after all, not made him very popular in Lordaeron._

_Southshore was a small port town at the very bottom of Hillsbrad. There were children playing, people fishing, and shops selling various goods, yet all of the citizens of the town seemed wary of the fifty or so mages still wearing a tabard of the Kirin Tor waiting at the entrance of Southshore while their leader journeyed to the town hall._

_Of the fifty who defected, most were like Lethella: young and ambitious mages who were eager to make their mark. Still, there was the rare _official_ member of the Kirin Tor who defected, including a few archmages (Yorem included). Almost everyone was excited about starting their new path in life, and was chattering with their neighbors ceaselessly. Still, Lethella couldn't help but shake off this strange feeling . . ._

_The thought vanished as Belmor put his hand on her shoulder. "Pretty exciting, huh? Being one of the first . . ."_

_"Yeah," she replied. "Kel'Thuzad's a great man and teacher. I still can't see why they would banish someone like that."_

_Eniria shrugged. "Like he said, they were too set in their old ways. We'll soon show them that even so-called 'evil' magic can be used for good when understood and utilized properly."_

_"I suppose you're right," Lethella said. _

_"Especially when considering the power of necromancy," interjected Belmor. "I mean, raising someone from the dead! Just imagine, with it, we could end all the suffering in the world!"_

_Archmage Yorem apparently overheard their conversation and walked behind them, saying, "I've heard of it in length before, yet never actually seen it done. If it's as powerful as Kel'Thuzad says it is, then I'm excited to see its possibilities as well."  
>A few minutes later, Kel'Thuzad returned to the group. Smiling, he started leading them back north, saying, "Everything was taken care of. I can assure you all that my wealth won't be used to line the king's coffers. That money is too important to waste."<em>

_As the group started moving, Belmor spoke up. "Kel'Thuzad, a few of us were wondering"—he paused when he saw Kel'Thuzad turn around, a strange look on his face—"if, you know . . . maybe you could show us how necromancy works. I mean, I'm pretty curious to see it."_

_A general consensus rose from the ranks. Kel'Thuzad glanced around to see several nodding heads before looking to his side and seeing a dead rabbit a few feet away—the unfortunate critter probably being killed by one of the many roaming bears and mountain lions._

_He walked towards it. "Alright, if that's what you want, I'll show you what I know so far. Everyone, gather around."_

_The mages eagerly formed a circle around the archmage and dead rabbit. Holding his arm out, he closed his eyes. Muttering some unintelligible words, dark-colored magic began to flow from his hand outstretched hand, streaming itself into the body of the rabbit. After a few seconds of this, the rabbit jumped back to life, looking around at all the humans, clearly confused._

_It still looked as it did when it was killed, but it was clearly _alive_. Everyone immediately started whispering amongst themselves when they saw the creature. Kel'Thuzad, on the other hand, kept his eyes closed and muttered something with the barest whisper._

_Lethella noticed this and strained her ears. She heard: "Yes, master . . . I know it's not yet complete, but . . . Yes, you're right, I'm sorry. I'll send it back now . . ."_

_Muttering more words, the same dark magic flowed into the rabbit, and it died yet again, its life stolen out of it. The mages immediately stopped talking and looked up at the archmage, who still had his eyes closed._

_"Still working out the details . . ." he whispered to himself. "With your help it can be done . . . Yes, I understand . . . to the north . . ."_

_"Archmage?" asked Lethella._

_Kel'Thuzad's eyes snapped open. He looked around to see everyone staring at him. Regaining his composure, he smiled with his usual charisma and said, "See? With the power of necromancy, I can control both life and death. It's not perfect, but it's a shame the Kirin Tor are too shortsighted to see such possibilities. Now come on, we've much traveling to do."_

_The group followed Kel'Thuzad willingly enough, clearly impressed by the power of their leader. Lethella was impressed, as well, but couldn't help but sense that uncertain feeling return as they travelled north._

— — —

_They were in northern Lordaeron (what would later become known as the Eastern Plaguelands) travelling to where Kel'Thuzad said his lab was. With luck, the Kirin Tor didn't find _all_ of his research and experiments for confiscation and eventual destruction, but one could never know._

_It's been about a week since the group's defection from the Kirin Tor, and so far no one was impressed. They spent most of their days travelling and setting up camp to rest at night—not really the grand beginnings anyone thought would happen. Still, Kel'Thuzad assured them that with his research in hand, they could begin in earnest their creation of the organization to rival the Kirin Tor._

_It was near nighttime when the group was travelling through the woods. They didn't travel openly into towns when they could avoid it, as no doubt all of Lordaeron was on alert to look for them. Everyone was starting to get tired, except for Kel'Thuzad, who was unusually joyful today._

_"Come on," he urged the group. "Not much longer now. Soon, we'll be at my lab, then we can rest and begin to—"_

_He stopped dead in his tracks. The fifty mages looked at him, then at each other, unsure of what to do. Before they could say anything, they heard the archmage mutter to himself again._

_"But master, all we need is . . . Yes, if you insist . . . Northrend, huh? Very well, it shall be done . . ."_

_One of the mages moved towards Kel'Thuzad, saying, "Uhh . . . archmage? Are you okay?"_

_Kel'Thuzad turned around and grinned wolfishly. "Yes, I am."_

_Faster than anyone could see, the archmage summoned a frostbolt and threw it directly at the mages head, striking and killing him instantly. As he dropped to the floor, Yorem yelled, "What the hell are you doing?"_

_Kel'Thuzad threw his arm in front of him in an arcing motion, multiple frostbolts shooting from his arm and hitting at least five mages closest to him. "I'm terribly sorry, everyone," he said, "but it looks like our paths end here. I was hoping we could all go together, but the Lich King has judged you unworthy of his service. So it looks like I'll be going to Northrend alone."_

_"Lich King?" asked Lethella._

_Kel'Thuzad didn't answer, simply thrusting his arm out and yelling, "Frost Blast!"_

_One of the mages was then encased in a block of solid ice. Unfortunately, the spell had a chain effect and spread to the closest ten mages, freezing them all in their place as well. Within four seconds, the ice block shattered, dropping the dead mage to the floor._

_"You monster!" Belmor cried, summoning up a fireball and aiming it at the archmage._

_Kel'Thuzad was too fast. Aiming his index finger at the attacking mage, a red fissure of ethereal magic appeared around Belmor. _Shadow Fissure,_ Lethella thought, realizing that she had read about the forbidden spell in a book before. Knowing it's dangers, she yelled, "Belmor, get out of—"_

_Before she could finish, a large explosion appeared within the circle, killing Belmor instantly. Kel'Thuzad was cackling madly now, killing more surprised mages with his frostbolts. Lethella just watched as more mages fell, powerless to do anything to stop him._

_"Come on, Lethella, snap out of it!" Eniria yelled, shaking her friend. The mage looked to see both Eniria and Yorem leapt forward, holding their arms out and preparing to fire arcane missiles at the clearly insane magus. Before they could attack, Kel'Thuzad saw this and aimed his arm at Eniria, placing a spell called Mana Detonation upon her._

_Before Eniria knew what to do, an arcane explosion erupted from her, hitting her, Yorem, and Lethella. Eniria and the archmage were killed instantly due to being in such close proximity, but Lethella was only wounded, being tossed to the floor in the aftershock._

_The massacre was nearly complete, as Kel'Thuzad was simply laying waste to the remaining, fleeing mages. When all were taken care of, Kel'Thuzad turned around and started to walk away, once again muttering to himself._

_Looking and seeing the bodies of her friends and allies, a wounded Lethella leapt up and summoned a frostbolt, yelling, "If you were just gonna kill us, then what was it all for, huh? WHAT WAS IT ALL FOR?" _

_She threw her frostbolt at Kel'Thuzad's back, but he was able to turn around in time and knock it away with his own. Before Lethella could counter, she was struck in the chest with another of his frostbolts, winding her and dropping her to the floor. The crazed wizard moved towards her, a madcap grin on his face._

_"Only the strongest may serve the Lich King in life," he said to her. "While only the weak may serve him in death. Unfortunately, I lack the power to bring you back to life under his command, but soon enough all of Lordaeron will see his power."_

_He raised his arm at Lethella and was about to summon a spell. She closed her eyes, knowing this was the end. Before he did anything, though, he stopped and stared off blankly into space._

_"Yes, master . . . To Northrend . . ."_

_With that, he turned around and walked away. Lethella no longer had any strength within her, but she was able to hear an answer to her question via a foreign and chilling voice inside her head._

You were used to weaken the Kirin Tor, that's all,_ the voice told her. _Against the power of death itself, you are nothing . . .

_With those words on her mind, she took one last glance and the lone wizard before dropping to the ground into an unconscious state_

* * *

><p>Now back to the present . . .<p>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	21. Wrap Up and Return

With their pasts all revealed . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>21: Wrap-Up and Return<span>**

The fire burned low as Lethella was finishing up her tale.

" . . . I was the only survivor of that attack. From that day on, I swore revenge on Kel'Thuzad and to atone for my own foolishness. I hunted him relentlessly for seven years, even joining the Argent Dawn and learning swordplay while becoming stronger in magic. I took every mission to hunt down the Cult of the Damned, the _real_ organization Kel'Thuzad build for the Lich King, in the Plaguelands. Still, it wasn't enough, as I watched the land around me wither and die and the Scourge grow stronger every day."

No one spoke as she looked at the three individually and continued:

"Eventually, the floating necropolis of Naxxramas—the home of Kel'Thuzad, now undead and the archlich of the Scourge—appeared over theEastern Plaguelands. I volunteered to join the Argent Dawn expedition group into his lair led by Darion Mograine, the younger brother of Renault Mograine, but was turned down. Furious at losing my one chance to get revenge and atone, I left the Argent Dawn."

She tugged lightly at the tabard she was wearing.

"Fortunately, the Dawn and Crusade formed an uneasy alliance to destroy Naxxramas at the time. It's through their representative, Scarlet Commander Marjhan, that I was able to find out about the Crusade in the first place. So I travelled to Tyr's Hand, and the rest is history."

Danthor leaned in a bit closer, unsure of what to say. Finally, he settled on: "What happened wasn't your fault."

"But it was, in a way!" the battle mage lashed out. "_I_ willingly followed that monster and left the Kirin Tor! If _I_ had told the Six about him defecting with so many mages, they would have stopped him, and the Scourge wouldn't exist!"

She looked around at the clearly speechless Jonas, Balean, and Danthor, then looked back down into the fire.

"I shoulder some of the blame, and I can live with that," she said. "But I won't rest or stop until the Lich King is dead and the Scourge eradicated. That's all . . ."

Jonas threw more wood on the fire. All their tales had been told, and they took them well into the night. Both Garren's Haunt and the Agamand Mills were still untouched, and all was silent save for the crackling of the wood in the fire. Finally, an hour after Lethella told her story, there were signs of movement.

Everyone heard it at once, and gathered their weapons immediately, looking into the direction of the sound. Danthor heaved a sigh of relief when he saw the noise was coming from the east, towards Garren's Haunt. Within a few more minutes, they saw a _massive_ caravan of crusaders, guarding at least five full wagons. They were led by Captain Melrache.

"About damn time," Jonas muttered, standing up and raising his arms. "Over here!"

The caravan spotted them immediately, and the four remaining crusaders moved down the mountain towards them, laughing the whole way. Melrache greeted them with a salute, saying, "Crusader Myles sent us here, telling us to bring enough supplies for a large-scale fortification project. Sorry for the delay."

"It's fine," Danthor said, watching as half the caravan stopped while the other half moved down towards the Mills. "It can't be easy getting together such a large pool of resources on such short notice."

The half of the caravan that stayed behind immediately began unloading their supplies, which included stone and mortar. There were at least thirty crusaders assigned to guard the construction, while even more laborers got to work knocking down the rotted house that used to belong to Maggot Eye.

"So how'd your field test go, captain?" inquired Balean. "Better than ours, I hope."

Melrache nodded. "We conquered the Venomweb Vale with no casualties and are in the middle of the fortification as we speak. Unfortunately, Captain Perrine's group wasn't as lucky, as we never heard word from him. We sent a few scouts to the Balnir Farmstead to find out what happened, and saw that the Forsaken were in the middle of building their own base there. We can only assume the worst."

"What a waste . . ." Lethella muttered.

After a few seconds of silence, Melrache coughed and looked at the four. "Yes, well, I'm sure you're exhausted, and we've arranged for your trip back to the monastery for a much-deserved rest. From what we've heard from Crusader Myles, you've done an exemplary service."

"You should really be thanking Captain Vachon, not us," Danthor said. He assumed Melrache had heard about what happened to his colleague. His silent nod confirmed it.

"Regardless, if you'd come this way I'd be more than happy to take you back to the monastery."

Looking at each other, the four of them grinned. They did their job successfully, and now they were going home. They followed Melrache to an empty wagon that would take them back.

Without a doubt, they passed the field test.

— — —

For once, Garomaw, Rammius, and Velonara didn't know what they were in for when going to meet with Sylvanas, who had summoned them to their personal chamber.

Garomaw assumed it was to congratulate the three on their successful takeover of the Balnir Farmstead. They ran into some resistance from the humans of the Crusade—and who could've predicted they'd also be vying for that land at the same time?—and lost a few men to both them and the Scourge, but a victory was always a victory in the Dark Lady's eyes, and she would no doubt look upon the three positively.

As they passed by the red-hooded royal guards, Dark Ranger Velonara looked at her two companions and said, "I don't have a good feeling about this . . ."

"What makes you say that?" Rammius asked, looking at the undead high elf.

"The face of the guards says it all," replied Velonara. "They're on edge about something, and I'm sure it's because of Lady Sylvanas."

Garomaw shrugged. "Nothing to fear, I'm sure. The Dark Lady always rewards those who carry out her orders successfully."

Yet when they walked into the Royal Quarter, all three of them could sense that something was not wrong. Sylvanas was too busy talking to Varimathras to notice their entrance. In the middle of the room where the two stood was a table with a map of Tirisfal on it. Clearly circled was the Scarlet Monastery.

"My queen," Garomaw started, kneeling down, "we've been summoned at your request."

"Ah, Captain Grimhand," Sylvanas said, looking up from her map at the three. "So nice to see you fresh from your most recent victory. Taking the Farmstead wasn't difficult, I hope."

Garomaw glanced up at her. "We ran into more opposition than we hoped, but were able to overcome them and claim the land for the Forsaken."

"Good." Sylvanas and her dreadlord-general moved away from the table as the three troops stood up. "I wish the same could be said for Captain Sorenson and his lot."

"Sorenson?" asked Garomaw. He hadn't heard from him since he gave him command at the Solliden Farmstead. Evidently he rose to the rank of captain. "What happened, my queen?"

"He was ordered him to conquer the Agamand Mills," answered Varimathras. "We received word a few weeks later of his success, and immediately ordered him to conquer Garren's Haunt. We never heard back from him."

Sylvanas echoed a laughed throughout the entire throne room. "And do you know what we found when we sent out battalion to secure the Mills? We found those damned crusading humans already building up their own fortifications! Now why, captain, do you think that is?"

Both Velonara and Rammius looked at Garomaw, who was put on the spot by the Banshee Queen. "B-Because Sorenson was beaten by the humans."

Quick as lightning, Sylvanas drew one of her arrows and fired it. It zoomed over the head of Garomaw and stuck itself into the wall. "Correct!" she proclaimed. "All our attacks on the newly fortified Crusade ground have failed, and it doesn't seem like we'll be getting that land anytime soon!"

"We're back to square one," Varimathras muttered.

Garomaw stood up. "Allow me to lead the assault on these areas, my queen. I will conquer them again in the name of the Forsaken!"

"No," replied Sylvanas, shaking her head. "No, no, I have a much better task for you. I've grown tired of these territorial squabbles. I plan on crushing this resistance altogether! Commander Grimhand, you are to take as many soldiers as you need and assault the monastery itself. Wipe out all signs of life within its walls in my name!"

Garomaw was speechless. He'd known that the final goal of their recent, aggressive stance on securing land was to destroy the Scarlet Monastery, but he certainly didn't expect it to happen this soon—or for him

_(now a commander)_

to personally lead it. He bowed. "Of course, my queen. It shall be done."

"Rammius, you are a member of the Royal Apothecary Society, and I expect you to use your skills accordingly in the assault. You have my permission to use any concoction necessary."

"Of course, my queen."

She turned towards the dark ranger. "Velonara, I expect you to put an arrow in his heart if you think that he won't grant us victory." She pointed to Garomaw.

Velonara grinned slyly. "It shall be done, my lady."

"Do not fail us," Varimathras added. "Take as much time as you need, but don't come back until the entire monastery is razed to the ground!"

With bows, all three Forsaken left. When they were out of earshot, Garomaw looked at Velonara and said, "She promoted me to commander for a reason. I should hope you treat me with the respect I deserve."

Dark Ranger Velonara pulled an arrow out and tested its point. It was razor sharp. "We'll have to see about that. We rangers are always watching from the shadows, ready to take over at any minute."

Apothecary Rammius just shook his head at the two, already thinking about which plague concoctions to bring with him for the attack.

— — —

They were in the wee hours of the morning when they finally made it back to the monastery.

Only a few crusaders left to guard were out when the four wearily made their way back into different bunks. Jonas and Balean said their goodbyes as they made their way to their separate wings—the cathedral and library wing respectively. Danthor looked at Lethella quizzically when he saw she didn't follow Balean into his wing.

"Aren't you training under Doan tomorrow?"

Lethella shook her head. "No, tomorrow I'm in the armory."

The two made their way to the barracks of the armory. At the split between where the men and women sleep, Danthor looked at the battle mage asked in a whisper, "You think our success makes us real crusaders now?"

Lethella nodded. "Probably, but that doesn't mean we stop training. We still have a lot to learn."

"Of course," Danthor said, opening the door to the male barracks and taking a step inside, Lethella doing the same. Then, he turned back around and added: "Good night, Lethella."

"Good night, Danthor."

With a smile on his face, he walked into the barracks and drifted off to sleep in his bed . . .

He was allowed to sleep in until midmorning. Danthor assumed it was because Herod knew of his return, though he doubted he could've woken up at the crack of dawn anyways—he completely slept through the morning wakeup call. Sitting up in his bed, he wondered if Lethella was waking up right now. With a little laugh, he shook his head, doubting it. She was, after all, the most motivated crusader in the whole monastery.

_And with good reason,_ he thought to himself, remembering her past.

He got out of bed and lightly stepped onto the ground. The first thing he noticed was an entirely new set of armor placed on the ground by his bed. Attached to it was a note. He took the note from the armor and read it. It said:

_Congratulations on achieving the rank of Scarlet Defender.  
>—Herod<em>

Danthor put the note down and inspected the armor. He had to admit, it was quite an upgrade. The armor was made up of actual mail instead of leather that completely covered his scarred arms (unlike his armor as a soldier). What he found most amusing was that he was given a small red shoulderpad to place on his left shoulder—to protect his side that's jutting out at his opponent when in his proper defending stance. It reminded him of Herod's, but it wasn't _nearly_ was big or noticeable.

He inspected the weapons next. The shield was the same, but his sword was longer and sharper than his previous sword. _This looks like the legitimate equipment they give to their men,_ he thought. _While my old armor felt like the second-rate goods._

Still, it was definitely an improvement, and the increase in rank

(_those that get the rank of soldier can't do much more than swing and sword and block with their shield, though even then those that do it well get the rank of Scarlet defender)_

gave him the kind of confidence boost he needed. All this training wasn't for naught, and he most certainly wasn't wasting his time here. All fired up, he put on his new armor and made his way to the training grounds, where Herod was drilling the remaining crusaders.

Upon seeing Danthor, he ordered the crusaders to continue their exercises and made his way to the defender. No doubt with a smile under his helmet, he put his hand on Danthor's shoulder (the unarmored one) and said, "I've heard about your accomplishment during your test. Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Danthor said. "I'd also like to thank you for thinking I'm worthy of becoming a defender instead of just a soldier."

"Nonsense, you deserve it." He leaned in a bit closer to Danthor and whispered. "In truth, most members don't stay soldiers for long. Those that keep their rank for six months or more will usually never achieve the next rank. They're just not skilled enough, you see."

"Ah, well that's good, then," Danthor said. Changing the subject, he asked, "Have you seen Lethella today?"

"The battle mage?" he replied. "Hmm, I believe I did. She was up with everyone else and was sent into the armory to train a bit with the myrmidons. Why?"

Danthor shrugged. "No reason, I just thought—"

He was cut off when a Scarlet scout burst onto the training ground and rushed towards Herod. Out of breath, he said, "Sir, permission to . . . speak."

"Once you've regained your breath."

The scout nodded, gripping his knees and taking deep breaths. When he could speak normally, he said, "I come bearing dire news."

"Well spit it out then." Herod didn't sound happy.

"Remember how we transported the undead named Sorenson to Interrogator Vishas for information?"

Herod nodded. Danthor found out the fate of the nine-fingered Forsaken.

"After a few hours of questioning," the scout continued, "he finally broke, saying that the Forsaken's entire plan for conquest revolved around taking over the monastery, and that it was going to happen soon!"

"And?" asked the champion.

"Shortly after that, we lost contact with interrogation chamber completely," he answered. "A few minutes later, one crusader returned, injured, telling us this information, and saying that they were attacked by the Forsaken themselves! He was the only survivor. When Commander Mograine found out, he quickly sent us here!"

"What?" asked both Herod and Danthor.

Before the scout could speak any further, an explosion was heard in the distance, followed by several yells and screams. Danthor and Herod looked at each other when this happened.

The attack had begun.

* * *

><p><em>Time to put the training to a real test!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	22. Battle for the Scarlet Monastery

The Forsaken assault has begun. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>22: Battle for the Scarlet Monastery<span>**

"I never thought I'd see that bastard go down," Sorenson said from the torture rack.

Although he'd only spent a few hours with him, the tortured Forsaken was happy to see Interrogator Vishas get his own vile throat slit. He put up a fight, sure, but he was no match for a group more than ten times the size of his own.

Garomaw cleaned his bloodied knife on Vishas's crusade tabard before sheathing it. He glanced down at Sorenson's hand and noticed his missing pinky finger. "Yes, I suppose you would. I'd shudder to think of what he did to you to try and get you to talk."

"Horrible things," Sorenson said, then added: "But nothing I've not had before while serving under the Lich King."

Dark Ranger Velonara spat on Vishas's corpse, saying to Sorenson, "You don't know the real meaning of torture 'til you've had your soul forcefully ripped from your body."

Garomaw ordered his men to search through the rest of the chamber and destroy anything of value. As he did, Rammius looked at Sorenson and asked, "You didn't tell him anything, did you?"

"Only that our eventual goal was to conquer the monastery," he replied. "But it's not like that mattered much, eh? Though I must admit, I didn't expect the attack to happen so soon."

Garomaw moved closer to the shackled Sorenson, saying, "It wasn't supposed to be, but it was because of _your_ failure that the Dark Lady decided to move up the schedule a bit."

Sorenson averted his gaze. "There was . . . nothing that could be done."

"Oh I'm sure," Garomaw said. "Still, there are worse things that can happen than getting bushwhacked by a group of Scarlet buffoons."

Sorenson moved his shackled arms up and down slightly. "I'm eager to redeem myself to Sylvanas. So how about you let me out and I can join you in this assault?"

Garomaw turned around and looked at Velonara, who slowly nodded her head.

Sorenson looked up at Garomaw's back and added, "What do you say, from one captain to another?"

Quick as a flash, Garomaw turned around and jammed his dagger into Sorenson's chest. The surprised Forsaken coughed out blood and looked up at his killer. With a cold look on his face, Garomaw pulled the knife out, but didn't bother cleaning it with the tattered rags clinging to Sorenson's body.

"Sorry, but I'm a commander now," he said, walking back towards the entrance of the graveyard wing. Motioning to Rammius and Velonara, he said to them, "Now come on, we've still got two more wings to conquer."

Sorenson gave out a small series of short breaths before finally loosing his final one upon this earth. As he closed his eyes, his last thoughts were of the rank of general that he would now never achieve.

— — —

Herod quickly rounded up all of the crusaders in the armory, marching them towards the hall that would lead them out to the Grand Vestibule, where the explosion came from earlier.

"We don't know what's out there, so be on your toes," he said to them. "The most important thing is to make it to the cathedral and get orders from Commander Mograine."

Herod kicked the door down with his Ravager in hand. The first thing he noticed was that the room was full of crusaders battling against Forsaken troops. The second thing he noticed was the destruction of the Vestibule's main wall, a siege weapon clearly visible on the outside launching explosives while the Forsaken poured through the opening. The third was the large amount of bodies—both human and undead—strewn about the floor. The fourth was the Forsaken soldier lunging towards the champion with a snarl, his sword raised in hand.

Herod skillfully parried his blow and used his brute force to slam the handle of his axe into the Forsaken's chest, winding him. While he doubled over, Herod brought the axe-head down into his back, killing him. Motioning at the crusaders behind him, he yelled, "Come on!"

They all drew their weapons and charged out of the armory door into the Grand Vestibule—out into the battle. The siege weapons outside had all but demolished the main wall of the monastery, and the roof was clearly weakening. Chunks of masonry fell from the sky as an innumerable amount of undead soldiers (fully armed and prepared for war) poured in over the bodies of the brave crusaders who died trying to defend the front.

Due to the surprise of the attack and the preparedness of the larger number of Forsaken soldiers, the Scarlet crusaders were pushed to the very back of the Vestibule, fighting for their very lives. The crusaders led by Herod were a much needed reinforcement, and, unwilling to abandon their comrades, charged headlong into the fray.

Danthor blocked an oncoming sword strike with his shield and slashed the attacker with his sword. As he stabbed yet another Forsaken, he was able to slam his shield into an oncoming soldier. Pulling his sword out, he looked around and noticed all of his friends engaged in battle: Jonas (who should've been in the cathedral wing) was smashing away with his mace, Balean and Kojak (who was fighting close together with several other crusaders from the library wing) working in-synch, and Lethella laying waste to all in her path with her sword and fire magic.

Slashing an oncoming warrior, Danthor felt a sharp pain in his back. He turned around and saw that a rogue had cut his leg and preparing a thrust into his chest. Slamming him with the shield and flooring him, the warrior turned back to Herod, who was single-handedly taking on at least five soldiers at once.

"We can't hold them off forever!"

"I know!" yelled back the champion. "We're just buying time for the wounded to get into the cathedral!"

Danthor looked around and saw that the crusaders who were the first to be attacked were indeed retreating through the door behind him, into the cathedral wing. His distraction nearly caused his head to get cut off, but he fortunately saw it and ducked in time, tackling the Forsaken to the ground and stabbing him.

"You're a Scarlet defender now, so you'd better damned well act like one!" Herod yelled before beheading a soldier.

Just then, an arcane missile went zipping by Danthor's head. Looking forward, he saw a Forsaken mage staring at him and casting another spell. Before he had time to stand back up, the mage was hit in the chest with an arrow, dropping her to the ground. He didn't even need to look to see that the arrow came from Balean.

Letting out a battle cry, Danthor felt no mercy for the soldiers he killed in battle. They did, after all, belong to the same organization that killed his mother and sister. He doubted if he could ever bring himself to forgive someone who was Forsaken, no matter what happened.

He rushed headlong into the battle, the roof falling in around him and the siege weapons bringing the walls around him crumbling. Before he knew it, he was surrounded by five soldiers. Utilizing his training

_("you see immediately the type of stance you want to take when blocking a weapon," Herod said)_

he struck up a defensive stance and blocked the first oncoming blow, responding immediately with a counterattack. He was able to parry another strike and block another at the same time, pushing back on both his weapons to force his opponents back, slashing them efficiently, methodically.

He felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder (the one _not_ protected by a shoulderpad—go figure) and felt warm blood trickle down from his new wound, staining his tabard. Grounding himself, he shifted his body weight

_("of course, if you can't dodge it, you'll want to bring the shield as close to your body as possible at the spot being attacked, so you can use your body weight to your advantage")_

and slammed his shield into the attacker, dazing him. The last remaining soldier swung his axe downwards, but Danthor leapt to the side and slashed him in his unprotected ribs, sending him to the ground in pain. Pushing his hair from out his face, he let out a little laugh of triumph, then looked around and saw that even though _he_ was faring well, it was clear they were losing the battle.

Undead were flooding into the room every second, easily replacing those who had been killed, while their own attacking force was diminishing. Still, the last of the wounded were almost out, and that meant it was time for a tactical retreat. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that all of his friends were still alive and well.

It seems like Herod got the message too, watching intently as the last crusader staggered off through the doors. "Alright, fall back! Get to the Crusader's Chapel!"

The crusaders from the armory happily complied, pulling back from the battle if they could and flooding through the stone hallway into the cathedral wing. Danthor and his friends were some of the last to move through the hallway, with Herod being the absolute last and fending off all of the oncoming Forsaken.

Before he lost his sight of the Vestibule completely, Danthor saw a large group of Forsaken soldiers entering in from the right of them—from the Scarlet Graveyard, actually. What was even worse was that he recognized the leader of the group almost immediately.

"GAROMAW!" he yelled as Herod retreated into the hall and began to close the heavy oaken doors.

This outburst caught the attention of the group, and faster than Danthor had seen anyone string an arrow (even faster than Balean), Velonara loosed a shaft into the hallway. The warrior heard an audible grunt as Herod managed to close the doors and lock it.

He turned around and waved his axe forward, yelling, "Come on, let's move! Get to Mograine!"

Even his loud booming voice couldn't hide the fact that an arrow was now protruding from his chest. He staggered forward a few inches before losing his balance and getting caught by Danthor. The warrior helped the champion stand and walked along with him down the hall towards theChapelGardens.

"Come on, not much farther . . ." he urged.

Upon emerging from the hallway into the gardens, it was clear that Mograine knew what was happening, and prepared for war. The Scarlet Commander stood at the base of the water fountain on the first floor. Upon seeing the wounded champion, he moved towards both of them, saying, "Herod, what happened?"

"He was wounded while leading us here," Danthor answered.

Mograine nodded as two Scarlet abbots appeared and took Herod from the warrior. "Take him to the chapel. Whitemane will see to your recovery." He turned to Danthor as the three left. "Anything else to report?"

"They're coming through as we speak," Danthor answered. "A lot of them—too many to count. Before we came here, I saw a group of them exit from the graveyard, led by a dark ranger, it seems."

Mograine ran a hand through his hair. "Any sign of Vishas or Loksey?"

Danthor shook his head.

"I saw Loksey while we retreated from the library to here," stated Arcanist Doan, who was standing right next to the commander. "But I haven't seen him since . . ."

"By the Light," Mograine said solemnly, "we can only assume the worst then. Very well, go join the rest in the ranks. Be prepared to fall back into the cathedral on my orders, but not a second before! We'll repel this menace, even if it means death!"

Danthor joined up with his three friends. Balean looked at the warrior and grinned, saying, "Exciting, huh? An excellent day to kill the undead!"

Jonas gripped his side, which was wounded by a sword slash, trying to heal it with the Holy Light. "I don't know if 'exciting' is the word I'd choose, especially right after our field test, but it's not like we have a choice . . ."

Lethella gripped her sword and staff in both hands tightly. "I like it this way. It makes our job a lot easier. Right, Danthor?"

The warrior shrugged. "It's caused the deaths of so many men . . ."

"Aye, good men, too," Jonas said. "Don't worry; the Light will be sure to avenge them. Just focus on keeping yourself alive!"

A rumbling sound came from inside the hall leading to the gardens. Everyone braced themselves, knowing that it was the sound of the door being destroyed by a siege weapon. The Forsaken would be coming soon.

"That won't be an easy task . . ." Danthor said quietly in response to Jonas's comment.

"In positions!" Mograine roared, drawing his mighty mace. "Don't let them gain a single inch!"

The clattering footsteps drew closer, and soon enough the front line of soldiers emerged from the hall out into the garden. The crusaders were ready, though, as Mograine brought his arm down, letting Doan yell, "Now!"

The Scarlet evokers, conjurors, sorcerers, and wizards all fired their magic at the oncoming undead, killing everyone in sight. When their attacks were finished, the mages fell back and allowed the beastmasters (Balean included) fire their arrows into the next wave of soldiers, killing them as well.

This pattern continued for a few more waves, until the Forsaken started firing arrows back, killing the crusaders on the front line. Having enough, Mograine pointed his mace at the entrance and yelled, "Purge all the infidels!"

The crusaders all let out a battle cry, drawing their weapons and rushing headlong into their enemies with zealous determination. The two forces clashed, sword on sword, arrow to arrow, and magic to magic. One group represented those who still teemed with life, while the other represented those who had it abruptly taken away by the Scourge.

Mograine was the first onto the battle, swinging his mace in all directions and killing anyone unfortunate enough to be in his way. Using all the skills of a paladin, he employed the Light to both heal himself and judge those in battle. He suffered a dozen wounds from a dozen enemies, but none of them could stop the commander, who roared and batted enemies down with ease.

Danthor, Jonas, Balean, Kojak, and Lethella fought closely together, with Danthor, Jonas, and Kojak fighting in close-quarters while Balean and Lethella served as ranged support. These tactics worked fine for a while, but it was quite obvious that the crusaders were getting pushed back, as the undead kept flooding in (_Just how many of them _are _there?_ Danthor found himself thinking in the midst of battle)and forcing them back inch by bloody inch.

The crusaders were pushed back near the fountain at this point when a vial flew over Danthor's head and hit the group behind him. A noxious green gas started to flow from the vial as the grass died beneath it, and the men caught within it started screaming in agony.

"Not bad, Rammius, for an apothecary," he heard a familiar voice say. This was followed by an arrow hitting a crusader near him.

Garomaw, Velonara, and Rammius made it onto the battle, and with their orders and superior fighting strength now leading the front line. More humans and undead fell as the crusaders began fighting their way up the staircase. Mograine was still fighting on the frontlines, but it was clear even now that he was getting tired.

Finally, when they reached the second level, Mograine cast Divine Shield, encasing himself in a holy bubble to stop all damage. He continued attacking, but yelled, "Crusaders, fall back to the cathedral now! We'll make our stand there!"

"Agh, damned undead!" Balean cursed, fighting one off with his dual axes.

The crusaders were in full retreat now, and quickly sprinted up the stairs into the Crusader's Chapel. A few crusaders were left outside when Mograine made his way into the cathedral, bleeding from several different wounds. With a grunt of might, he began to close the large double doors to stop his enemies from getting in.

Before it was shut completely, Lethella cried, "Wait, Doan is still fighting out there!"

Everyone looked outside to see Arcanist Doan and the last remaining crusaders fighting in the green garden, the bodies of their comrades scattered all around. Doan himself was engaged in battle with Garomaw, who was putting him on the ropes with his quick attacks. A look of grim determination was replaced with pain on Doan's face as an arrow thudded into his shoulder, causing him to step back a few inches.

A gruesome smile grew on Garomaw's face as he stabbed his dagger right into Doan's ribs. Letting out a death cry, he fell to his knees. The door was then closed and locked by Mograine, with only the crusaders in the cathedral being left alive.

They were besieged.

* * *

><p><em>A hopeless situation . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	23. The Last Stand

Stuck inside the cathedral! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>23: The Last Stand<span>**

"Well what do you suppose we do now?"

Commander Garomaw Grimhand kicked at the limp form of Arcanist Doan as the dark ranger asked her question. It was because of Velonara's arrow that the arcanist had an opening, but _he_ was the one who delivered the killing blow.

The Forsaken troops (numbering at about a hundred left, in all) had tried everything to open the heavy wooden doors blocking their entrance to the cathedral, but it would do no good. The door held firm, its remaining human crusaders inside the cathedral all that's left of the monastery.

"I'm not sure," Garomaw said, turning towards Velonara, who was sitting down and fletching an arrow. "Why don't you tell me?"

The undead high elf didn't even look up from her task, but shrugged, simply saying, "You're the commander here, not me."

"And you'd just love a chance to bury your arrow in my throat, I'm sure," he shot back. "Well don't worry, the humans won't last long in there anyway."

"Suppose there's a secret exit or a way to call for backup," said Velonara. "Then _we'd_ be the one who's under siege."

Garomaw pointed towards the entrance of the cathedral wing. "Well I don't suppose we could just wheel in our massive and bulky siege weapons to blow this door open. Bad enough we had to leave them to continue on foot, but I didn't expect this!"

Velonara continued fletching her arrow. "Humans are wily. You should know that—you used to be one, after all."

Garomaw was about to go off on a tirade with the elf, but then an idea struck him. A malicious grin slowly crept onto his face as he turned towards Rammius near the fountain on the second floor, busy distributing potions to the wounded.

"Hey, Rammius, get over here!" He pointed at the fortified door. "I've got a job for you . . ."

— — —

Spirits were low within the Crusader's Chapel. The crusaders that survived the onslaught were all cramped into the cathedral: resting, eating, or simply waiting for their fate.

As soon as he closed and locked the door, Scarlet Commander Mograine coughed up some blood and hobbled down the long hallway. High Inquisitor Whitemane was at the altar, healing all the wounded who came in. Upon seeing Mograine, she rushed towards him and said, "Are you alright, my champion?"

Mograine weakly attempted to ward her off, continuing towards the altar. "I'll be fine . . . Doan is gone . . . How's Herod?"

He got up the final stair to the altar before collapsing, Whitemane immediately kneeling down and using the Light to heal his wounds. With help from a few Scarlet champions, Mograine was put to rest on top of the gray altar before he passed out completely.

And thus, the crusaders were leaderless.

Danthor Kurock, Jonas Merrigan, Balean Orthel, and Lethella Borman were all resting against one of the pillars that held up the high-ceilinged cathedral. From outside the door, they could hear the movement of the Forsaken, no doubt finding a way to blow their way in and slaughter every human in sight.

Jonas had managed to stop the bleeding from all the wounds they got, but (to Danthor, at least) they still hurt like hell. Danthor sighed and lightly tapped the back of his head against the pillar. He looked around and saw most of the crusaders doing what they were: sitting down and being silent. It was clear the end had come.

"So this is it, huh?" he finally asked, catching the group's attention.

"Don't let the mood get to you," Lethella said, drawing her fiery-enchanted sword. "I've known few crusaders who would just _give up_. They're just resting, waiting to make their final stand."

Balean patted Kojak on the head. "Yeah, that's nice, but who's gonna lead 'em? I mean, we got Vishas, Loksey, and Doan dead, while Herod and Mograine are out. Shit, the only leader we've got left is Whitemane, but she's got her hands full healing right now."

Jonas remained silent. Danthor looked and saw that he was praying.

Who would lead them, indeed? It was clear by looking around that no one in the cathedral was clamoring for the job; they were too focused on keeping themselves patched up before anything else. The odds were against them, no doubt about that, but that was no excuse to make the Forsaken's job easy for them!

The defender slowly stood up. Looking at Jonas, Balean, and Lethella, he smiled and said, "For what it's worth, I'm glad I'll be dying by your guys' side."

The three crusaders looked at him quizzically as Danthor drew his sword and strode to the middle of the hall. "Is this what we took an oath to do? To sit around and wait for the undead to come to _us_?"

Every crusader within earshot looked up at the standing warrior.

"I don't know about you, but I joined the Scarlet Crusade to eliminate all undead life on Azeroth," he continued. "Not to let them come to our doorstep and try to eliminate us! We're _crusaders_! That means we rush into battle, no matter how dire the odds, yet all I see here is a group of defeated humans waiting for their end to come! So are we just giving up then? No! As a member of the Scarlet Crusade I refuse to yield any ground to the undead."

The group started to murmur at this. A few crusaders began to stand up.

"What the hell is he doing?" asked Balean.

A smile appeared on Lethella's face. "He's deciding to make a difference . . ."

"So we have two options: Either we give up and let the Forsaken destroy the last bastion of humanity in Tirisfal, or we stand our ground and fight!"

"I say we fight!"

Everyone looked over to see Lethella boldly striding over towards Danthor. She drew her own sword.

"Our actions will strike fear into their hearts," she said, pointing her sword at the door. "On the other side of that door are those that are just as wounded and tired as us! If we fight with the Light on our side and faith in our hearts, then there's no way we can lose!"

The chatter got louder now. Nearly everyone recognized Lethella as the famed battle mage that had joined their ranks. The fact that she was behind Danthor got several more crusaders to stand up. Balean, Jonas, and Kojak joined the two in the center of the room, all drawing their weapons.

"Let us show them that we're not afraid," Danthor said, turning towards the door. "That no matter how hard they try, they can't take Lordaeron from us! We fight for humanity, for Lordaeron, for the Crusade!"

All the crusaders cheered, standing up and drawing their weapons. Even Whitemane, who had her hands full healing the wounded, stopped and looked at the four who had brought the unwavering zeal to destroy all undead back into the demoralized troops. Smiling inwardly, she went back to her healing duties.

They heard a rather large thumping sound coming from just outside the door, followed by a series of yells in what was undeniably Gutterspeak. Smiling, Danthor strode towards the door with his sword and shield in hand.

"How about we show them what we're made of . . ."

— — —

The last remaining barrels and vials were stacked in front of the cathedral's door in a rather large pile. When the deed was done, the soldiers quickly feel back to a safe distance by the water fountain with their allies.

"So this'll blow that door open, right?" Garomaw asked the apothecary.

Rammius nodded. "Yes, the concoction is very volatile. All that's needed is heat to set off a chain reaction."  
>"Good." Garomaw looked over at Velonara, who was already drawing an arrow with the tip covered in oiled cloth. "It's all on you, then. Don't miss."<p>

Setting the tip of the arrow alight, she took aim. "Don't worry about that, commander. I never miss!"

The bow let off a twanging sound as the arrow flew straight and true, hitting a barrel right in the center of the pile of volatile chemicals. As soon as the flames struck, the pile exploded, blasting a massive hole through the heavy wooden doors. As the smoke was clearing, Garomaw drew his sword and pointed at it.

"What are you waiting for? Charge!"

A few frontrunners made it about halfway through the field towards the door before being struck down all at once by a hail of arrows. This movement stopped the charge in its tracks, as all the undead looked up at the smoking wreckage.

"Garomaw Grimhand!" they heard a voice proudly yell. As the smoke faded, they all saw a large contingency of humans gathered near the door, armed and clearly ready to fight and die.

The one who called Garomaw's name was near the front, blanked by a hunter, a paladin, and a woman. He stared daggers at the commanding undead officer.

"You told me that name before killing my family and burning my house," he continued, "saying it was a pleasure to meet me. Well, my name is Danthor Kurock, and it is not a pleasure meeting you! In fact, I can't wait to have my memory rid of your face after I've killed you!"

Garomaw looked at Velonara. "Kill him!"

"With pleasure."

The arrow flew straight towards Danthor, but was stopped when it was engulfed from a fireball that came from the woman standing next to him. Scowling, Garomaw looked at all of his soldiers and yelled, "What the fuck are you waiting for? SLAUGHTER THEM ALL!"

The Forsaken soldiers let out a massive battle cry, rushing once again towards the crusading humans. Danthor raised his sword high and yelled, _"FOR THE SCARLET CRUSADE!"_

The crusaders let out an even louder battle roar, intimidating even the deadliest of undead soldiers. Arrows and spells flew from the front of the cathedral into the onrushing Forsaken as Danthor, Lethella, Jonas, and Balean led the charge against their enemies. The two clashed right in the middle of the second-level gardens, and both groups' last stand began.

Danthor cut through the ranks of undead, slashing, blocking, and slamming the entire way. He wasn't focused on killing everyone in sight, just on getting to Garomaw. With their leader dead, the group would be disheartened . . . and he'd finally avenge his family as well.

Garomaw was no longer content with leading from the back. Drawing his dagger in his off-hand, he and Velonara rushed into the front lines, stabbing and shooting anyone who got in their way. The battle had spread out across the entire second level of the gardens now, and death was suffered on both sides.

They were in the middle of the blood-soaked grass when they met. Balean and Jonas had gone off to fight the battle elsewhere, leaving Danthor and Lethella together when they saw Garomaw and Velonara. A sly grin grew on Garomaw's face as he ordered the dark ranger to shoot Danthor. Once again, though, the arrow was stopped from a fireball by the battle mage.

The two caught each other's eyes for a few seconds, before Lethella said to Danthor, "She's mine . . ."

The warrior nodded and kept his sights on Garomaw . . .

Lethella readied another fireball as Velonara strung another arrow. Before she could cast the spell, though, the dark ranger held one of her arms out and yelled, "Silence!"

A strange type of dark magic had seized Lethella, freezing her up and not allowing her to cast any spells. She looked and saw that her fireball had disappeared as well.

With a baleful laugh, Velonara said, "Archery's not all I know. We dark rangers pride ourselves on using dark magic to destroy our enemies!"

She fired her arrow right at Lethella's heart. Quick as a flash, though, Lethella ducked out of the way and charged straight at Velonara, her sword and staff ready for battle. She swung both in rapid succession, but the attacks were neatly dodged by the dark ranger, who backed away each time.

— — —

Jonas found himself fighting near the fountain when the group split up.

Smashing an unfortunate Forsaken with his mace, he looked around and saw Balean and Kojak leading the crusaders into battle as they were slowly pushing the undead down the stairs and onto the first level of the garden.

_Probably takes him back to his Syndicate days . . ._ he thought distantly as he heard the gleeful laughs that came from the hunter and his companion.

Then, a strange sight caught his eye. As he ducked and slammed his mace into a soldier's chest, he heard someone yell in Common, "Come on, you fools! Kill them! What do you think my elixirs were for?"

He looked and saw at the very edge of the fountain a gangly-looking undead in gray robes with two leather straps crisscrossing his face in an X. He recognized him as one who was always near Garomaw and the dark ranger. What was his name? Ramone? Ramstein?

_Ah, the hell with it. I'll just kill him anyways_.

The paladin charged at Rammius, who no doubt heard his splashing feet through the fountain. With a small squeak of fear, he dived to the side, avoiding Jonas's initial strike with his mace.

"Foul undead!" he cursed.

Rammius started rummaging through the numerous pouches on his belt, and finally pulled out a tiny vial of green liquid. "Why don't you join us?" he asked and tossed it towards Jonas.

The paladin sidestepped the vial, letting it shatter in the water next to him. Immediately, a noxious green gas began to emanate from it, causing Jonas to cover his mouth and move away from it, back towards the grass. Rammius cackled as he went through another one of his pouches and held the vial up.

"That one not to your liking?" he asked. "Well how 'bout this?"

A blue-colored liquid inside a vial flew towards where Jonas was now recovering. Not having time to move, he swung his mace right at it, shattering it in midair. Unfortunately, the concoction exploded as soon as it was struck, forcing a singed Jonas to the ground in pain.

"Too easy . . ." Rammius muttered, turning his mind back towards the battle.

A few seconds after, he felt a painful feeling rise from inside his body. Gripping it in pain, he saw a golden-colored light arc across his chest, drawing blood. He cried out in pain as Jonas emerged from the smoke with his mace in one hand and his other outstretched—the power of the Light was in that hand.

"Doesn't feel good, does it?" he mocked. "That's the feeling of retribution!"

Before Rammius could respond, Jonas charged right at him, swinging his mace with both arms and striking the apothecary right in his stomach. He spat out blood before gripping his stomach and doubling over in pain. Jonas raised his mace up to finished the job by clocking him in the back of his head, but Rammius managed to scramble away in time, letting his mace only hit water.

Rammius was gasping and wheezing as he once again rummaged through his pouches. He pulled out a vial with golden liquid inside of it and said, "So you wanna go that way, huh? Alright, get the taste of my battle elixir!"

He drank the liquid himself, and Jonas immediately noticed that he regained some stamina. Drawing an enchanted dagger from his belt, he pointed it at Jonas.

"Now you'll see the real strength of an apothecary!"

The two roared and rushed headlong at each other. Jonas swung his mace but noticed that Rammius was much faster than before. Ducking from his strike, he clasped his hands together and swung them into Jonas's stomach, winding him even through his armor. Gripping his stomach in pain, Rammius twirled his dagger around and prepared to stab him in his exposed neck.

Before he could, Jonas used the power of the Light to judge Rammius, causing him to briefly recoil in pain. When he regained his breath, he noticed that Rammius was once again on him. He threw a swift punch that struck Jonas right in the side of his face. _Gotten stronger too . . ._ he thought disjointedly as he swung his mace at him to counter.

Rammius once again ducked and threw his entire body in Jonas's, driving him backwards until he forced him off of the fountain to land in the water on the first floor of the garden with a thud. The paladin grunted in pain as he lied on his back for a few seconds, before feebly crawling away from the ledge.

The apothecary jumped from his spot to land near Jonas on his own two feet with a splash. He raised his dagger up to Jonas. "You wouldn't wanna get hit with this. It's been treated by some of my elixirs, and that's not good for any human."

Rammius slowly strode towards, intent on stabbing him with his dagger to end it, Jonas as he continued crawling back. Raising his head to the sky, he yelled, "Light, give me the strength to overcome this!"

His prayers were answered as he thrust his free hand out towards Rammius, the power of the Holy Light coursing through it. The judgment strike hit the apothecary in his legs, causing him to grunt in pain and drop onto one knee. Taking this opportunity, Jonas leapt to his feet with his mace firmly gripped in his hands. Letting out a triumphant cry, he swung his mace as hard as he could and struck Rammius in the side of his head.

He heard a cracking sound as the apothecary's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell on his back in the water, his dagger falling from his lifeless hands. Jonas stood over him for a few seconds, breathing heavily. He sheathed his mace and got onto one knee himself.

"You may have been an enemy," he said, "but you were once a human. May you find yourself in a better place with the Light . . ."

After a few seconds of silence, he drew his mace yet again and threw himself back onto the battlefield. There were too many who needed help right now for him to stop.

— — —

Balean gave out a little howl of joy as he fired yet another crossbow bolt at an oncoming Forsaken soldier. The soldier stopped, gripped his chest, then fell onto his back, giving a small death rattle as he did it.

"Kojak, come on boy!" he yelled as his companion bolted from his side and jumped onto the nearest unsuspecting soldier, ripping at him with his fangs and claws.

Firing another shot, he looked around at the battle. Upon further inspection, the number of Forsaken to crusaders was closer than they first anticipated—near equal, in fact. It seems like their opponent's numbers weren't as limitless as they thought, but that didn't mean anything in battle.

What the Scarlet Crusade had on its side that the Forsaken soldiers didn't was a powerful drive to protect their home. The undead troops clearly didn't expect to have their opponents fight with such intensity, especially when they were on their last legs, but that always seemed to be the power of the Crusade: to have their soldiers continue fighting to the last man, unwavering and never giving up.

Grinning ferociously, the beastmaster saw the crusaders fighting back-to-back whenever they had the chance, doubling their chances for survival. Still, the victor of the battle wasn't clear and the tide could change at any minute, which meant that he had to do his part.

He fired off two more arrows before he caught a glimpse of a battle to his left. He saw that dark ranger who was always at Garomaw's side fighting with Lethella in ranged combat—arrows versus magic. Raising up his crossbow, he took aim at the dark ranger's head.

_This'll be the second time you owe me,_ he thought, closing one eye.

Before he could pull the trigger, he heard a cry behind him, and on survival instinct immediately ducked. This saved his life, as a sword swooped over him where his neck originally was. Turning around, he was able to tackle the soldier who tried the sneak attack. When he had him on the ground, he dealt him one swift punch to the face before pulling out one of his axes and jamming it into his head.

Standing back up, he sheathed his bloodied weapon and grabbed his crossbow from the ground. He looked at where the two were fighting and saw that they were blocked off by several other battles now going on between them. Sighing, he whistled for Kojak to come back to him before turning in the other direction and shooting at any undead he saw. He thought he could leave Lethella to her own battle and she would be fine.

She was, after all, the famed battle mage at the monastery.

* * *

><p><em>The fight's not over yet!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	24. The Last Stand 2: Fight or Flight

The battle mage vs. the dark ranger! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>24: The Last Stand 2 – Fight or Flight<span>**

Velonara was able to fire off three arrows in rapid succession while Lethella was only able to get off one fireball. Both fighters jumped out of the way to avoid the other's attack, but quickly recovered for another strike.

They kept their distance from each other, never too far and never too close. Velonara's silence spell had worn off relatively quickly, and the battle mage was happy to get some distance from the dark ranger so she could use her magic more effectively. Summoning a fireball in each hand, she matched Velonara's wicked grin.

"Let's see how smug you'll be acting _after_ fighting with me!"

She threw one fireball, which Velonara promptly dodged. When she regained her footing, the dark ranger saw another fireball barrel towards her. Not having time to move again, she dropped to her stomach to let the fireball fly over her. While she was falling, though, she was able to string an arrow and let it loose.

This action surprised Lethella, who sidestepped the attack, getting away with only a brief knick on her upper-arm. Velonara didn't bother saying anything as she stood back up and fired another arrow. Lethella thought fast and thrust her free hand out, sending a powerful burst of fire out at the arrow instantly with a spell called Fire Blast. The attacked knocked the burned arrow to the ground in an instant.

Velonara cursed and drew another arrow from her quiver. Before she could string it into her bow, though, Lethella was right in front of her, within striking distance. Drawing her fiery-enchanted sword, she swung it with skill, attempting to cleave off the dark ranger's head. Velonara was a bit quicker than the attack, though, and was able to duck, thrusting her heavy wooden bow into Lethella's exposed stomach, winding her.

As the battle mage recoiled in pain, Velonara took this chance to retreat down the stairs behind her. As she was moving backwards, Lethella threw two more fireballs, both hitting the stone near Velonara, barely missing her. She responded in turn by firing two arrows, both dodged by the battle mage.

"Damned undead elf . . ." Lethella muttered as she descended the stairs onto the first story of the gardens.

She didn't see Velonara anywhere, and when she took her last step off the stairs, a saber swung down at her, followed by a battle cry. Velonara had been waiting at the side behind the stone wall, preparing for an ambush. Lethella acted more on instinct and blocked the sword strike with her staff. With a grunt of strength, she pushed the weapon off and swung her own sword at Velonara, who nimbly leapt back to avoid it.

Velonara retreated into the stone walkway at the side of the gardens. Lethella summoned two fireballs and threw them at her opponent, who leapt out of the way both times, using the pillars that separated the two to her advantage.

"Stop hiding and fight!" yelled Lethella.

Velonara appeared at that moment and fired an arrow (one that had a slightly different feel, Lethella couldn't help but think) at the battle mage, who ducked to avoid it. Unfortunately, the arrow sunk itself into a crusader fighting behind her. He gave out a small grunt of pain before falling to the ground.

"A good ranger uses her environment to her advantage," Velonara stated, once again hiding behind a stone pillar. "Anyone who can't even see that deserves to rot!"

_No choice . . . gotta use it,_ Lethella thought, as she gathered all her concentration and began to channel the power of fire through both hands.

Not a second later, she could feel a pair of arms wrap themselves around her neck and yank her back. She didn't lose her balance, but was able to shake the opponent off and stab him in the chest with her sword. When she turned around to see who she stabbed, she saw that it was the same human who was just hit with Velonara's arrow a few seconds ago. His clothes and armor (and tabard) were in perfect order, but his flesh was already rotting at a rapid rate.

_He acted like one of the undead,_ she thought with disgust.

From behind the pillar, she could hear Velonara's vengeful laugh. "Surprised, are you? That poor crusader there was hit with what I call a Black Arrow. Anyone who's killed with the enchanted arrow rises up as one of my dark minions, completely subservient to my will."

"You're no better than the Scourge," Lethella said quietly.

Velonara appeared from behind her pillar, three arrows (with their tips glowing black with dark magic) were strung up in her bow at the same time. With a look of anger on her face, she yelled, "Don't you _dare_ compare us to them! We're nothing alike!"

She let the three arrows fly, all of which missed Lethella, but hit three crusaders behind her. They all died instantly . . . and rose a few seconds later, their flesh rotting. They were only capable of letting out a few guttural sounds, and Lethella knew they were now Velonara's dark minions.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you," she said to them as they approached her, their weapons still in hand. "I'll make sure you get a proper end."

The first minion (previously a guardsman) attacked, raising up his spear and bringing it down on Lethella. She parried it with her staff and pushed him away, drawing her sword in her other hand. The second minion then charged at her, a shield and sword in his hands. She parried his sword strike with her own and brought her staff down on her, which he blocked.

Lethella heard the guttural sound behind her. The third minion had managed to sneak up on her. Before she could turn around and run him through, she felt a sharp pain in her back. She took a step forward and steadied herself, realizing she was hit in the shoulder by one of Velonara's arrows (but not a black arrow, it seemed—thank the Light for that).

Still, it threw her off, and the minion took the chance to smash his one-handed mace against the back of her head. This attack _did_ cause her to lose her balance, as she let out a little gasp of pain before dropping to her knees. All three minions had her surrounded and weakened now, as she felt fresh blood dripping down the side of her face.

"Now kill her!" Velonara commanded from the walkway.

All three minions raised up their weapons. "Blast Wave!" Lethella bellowed.

Before they could bring down the killing blow, a wave of fire erupted from the battle mage's body, hitting all three minions in the chest and sending them flying back. They gave out a little cry of pain before finally being still. Lethella shakily stood up and turned back towards the incredulous Velonara.

"You'll pay for your black magic, undead filth!" she said, pointing her sword at the ranger.

A look of pure rage overtook Velonara's face as she leapt over the stone wall separating them and drew an arrow, intent on making the kill. Before she could fire it, Lethella used the Fire Blast spell to send the bow and arrow flying out of her hands. The dark ranger gave out a cry of pain as her ranged weapon flew far out of her reach (with her hands burned, to boot).

_Now it's time,_ Lethella thought, sheathing her weapons and raising both her hands up, the power of fire being channeled through them.

"I won't let cast your spell!" Velonara spat, thrusting both her arms out and sending dark magic flying towards Lethella in a visible stream.

Lethella let a small cry of pain escape her. As soon as the magic struck her, it felt as if her very life was being _sucked_ out of her. Still, she would not stop casting her spell. Not for anything.

Velonara let out a vengeful laugh. "Hah, there's no way you can survive my Life Drain! Give up already! The monastery is ours!"

"I will not . . . give up," Lethella spat out, still finding the strength to cast her spell. "The monastery is a testament to life . . . and it has no place for the undead!"

With that, she cast a blue translucent shield around her—a spell called Mana Shield. The Life Drain immediately latched onto the shield, stealing from Lethella's magical energy (or mana) instead of her own life force. That was fine. She had more than enough mana to share. What was even more important was that her spell was finished.

"What?" cried the dark ranger. "Just die already, damn it!"

_"PYROBLAST!"_ roared Lethella, setting loose a fireball at least three times the size of her normal spell.

Velonara didn't have time to dodge, or to even comprehend what was going on. The look of realization struck her face just moments before it was over . . . Then she was struck by the spell. It carried such impact that as soon as it hit her chest, it sent her flying back over the stone barrier and against the hard stone wall in the walkway. Without a word, the dark ranger slumped down to the ground, her chest burned and her back broken.

As soon as she knew Velonara was dead, Lethella dropped to her hands and knees, panting heavily. She was putting on a front for the dark ranger—something she learned from Danthor, it seemed—and really had very little stamina _or_ mana left to spare. Still, she smiled. She was able to take out one of their leaders.

And in the end, that had to count for something in regards to winning this battle.

— — —

Battles raged on all around them between the crusaders and Forsaken, but Danthor didn't care. Despite all the noise and death on all sides of the garden, he only kept his focus on one undead—a Forsaken rogue known as Commander Garomaw Grimhand.

Garomaw drew his sword and dagger, twirling them both expertly in his hands. "I remember you. You were that little farmer who tried to keep us off his land. You'll forgive me if I couldn't remember right away. That farm was the first piece of territory we conquered, you see . . ."

Danthor let the comment slide, actually smiling a bit (though more out of intimidation). "Well I'm not a farmer anymore. Now I'm a defender of the Scarlet Crusade, and you will finally receive retribution for your crimes."

"Fine by me . . ."

With that, Garomaw threw down a smoke bomb, completely covering his form. When the smoke dispersed, he was gone. Danthor gripped his sword even tighter than before and took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the area. No good, all he saw was fighting and death. Then, he heard a slight sound behind him.

Too late.

Before he had time to react, a rope was around his neck and was pulling him backwards, attempting to garrote him. Danthor let out a brief gasping sound, as he heard Garomaw's voice behind him. "If you struggle, it'll just be more painful."

Acting on instinct, Danthor shoved his elbow into the rogue's exposed stomach, causing him to grunt in pain and recoil backwards, dropping the rope. Danthor gripped his neck and coughed, regaining his breath, when Garomaw rushed towards him, his weapons raised.

He brought his sword down first, which Danthor blocked with his shield. He countered by swinging his own sword, which Garomaw deftly dodged. Turning his dagger around, he attempted to stab it deep into the warrior's exposed neck, but he ducked in time, holding his shield out and slamming it into Garomaw's chest.

The undead grunted in pain and fell to the floor hard. As Danthor moved closer, he leapt up and swung his sword, which Danthor dodged by ducking. As soon as he came back up, Garomaw dealt him a swift kick to his face, sending him staggering backwards, but not falling.

Garomaw took this chance to retreat onto the first few steps leading to the cathedral. As soon as Danthor rushed towards him, he summoned a throwing knife and chucked it at the warrior. Danthor didn't expect this, and as a result, the knife sunk into his exposed shoulder. He cried out in pain, but didn't bother pulling it out and rushed onwards.

The two clashed right by the wreckage of the cathedral's door, locking blades and creating a standstill. "You've certainly improved," Garomaw commented, "but I'm afraid you're lacking in experience. Maybe if you had fifty more years, you'd—"

Danthor cut him off by head-butting the rogue, dazing and sending him dropping to the floor. Not missing a beat, Danthor drove his sword into Garomaw's exposed shoulder. He let out a deep, guttural groan as this happened, while Danthor only smiled.

"What was that? I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear you."

Garomaw gritted his teeth and yanked himself away, diving forward and slashing Danthor in the leg with his dagger. Pulling away, Danthor kicked Garomaw in the face, sending him rolling down the stairs. He recovered faster than the defender anticipated, and was able to sprint towards him at blinding speed.

Garomaw tackled Danthor, sending both of them through the blasted hole in the door and into the cathedral. As Danthor was pinned, Garomaw was able to cut him lightly with his sword before the warrior let out a massive battle cry and throw the Forsaken off. As he recovered, Danthor strode towards him. Thinking fast, he reached into his pouch and threw some powder into the warrior's eyes.

"Agh!" cursed Danthor, rubbing his eyes. Only darkness filled them now. "You son of a bitch!"

When he could at last see again (albeit through squinting eyes), Garomaw was gone. He could, however, hear his voice echoing through the cathedral. "What's the matter? Just now thinking you're out of your element?"

"Shut up and come out to fight, you coward!" yelled Danthor.

A small amount of laughter. "I think not. You see, I'm patient. I always wait for the proper time to strike, no matter how long it takes . . ."

In the distance, High Inquisitor Whitemane, still healing the wounded (and the odd crusader who shambled in from the battle outside), heard this with fascination. She zeroed in on Danthor and saw Garomaw sneaking up behind him, blending into the shadows, his dagger ready to bury itself into his back.

"Behind you, look out!" she yelled, pointing.

Danthor turned around in time to bring his sword crashing against Garomaw's chest, leaving a long diagonal cut in its wake. Garomaw spat out some blood, but pressed forward, swinging his sword at the warrior. Danthor parried, but noticed that his movements were starting to get slowed, with his arms and legs feeling tingly.

Garomaw noticed this and was able to maneuver to Danthor's side, punching him right in his kidney, stunning him. Then, quick as a flash, he was behind Danthor and wrapped his arm around his neck, kicking his feet out from under him. As Danthor stumbled for his balance, Garomaw dragged him back into the side-hall shadowed by the pillars.

"Starting to lose your edge, eh?" he asked in a gleeful tone. "I'm sure you remember what happens when you're cut by one of blades, don't you? It'll only get worse as the poison will settle into the rest of your body, killing you slowly. Though I'm afraid your end will come sooner than that!"

The bloodied Danthor slammed the back of his head into Garomaw's face, but he still refused to let go (though he did let out a pained grunt). The Forsaken only tightened his grip, attempting to either choke him or snap his neck. Danthor couldn't tell at this point.

"Stop with your struggling, and I'll make sure it's painless!" he remarked.

Danthor would do no such thing, as he put all of his strength into his legs, forcefully running backwards while letting loose an animalistic battle cry. Garomaw didn't have any time to react as his back was slammed against the stone wall. This caused enough to pain to have him let go, and Danthor stumbled forward gratefully.

He didn't rest long, however, as Garomaw rushed towards him, intent on finishing this. Danthor's body had slowed considerably, but he had enough in him to hold his foot out and boot Garomaw in the chest. The rogue held onto his foot with one arm, however, and used his free arm to plunge his dagger into Danthor's leg.

Danthor roared in pain as Garomaw strode towards him, knocking his sword and shield out of his feeble arms. Losing the strength to stand, Danthor dropped to his knees, his vision dimming and body going numb. Garomaw stood over him triumphantly, his sword still in hand. (He lost his dagger when Danthor pulled his leg back.)

He looked up at the cathedral's high ceilings and said, "Taking your land was but a first step. All of my conquest in Tirisfal has culminated to this, and now the Scarlet Monastery is mine! You hear me? MINE!"

"Killed my . . . family . . ." Danthor muttered.

"Hmm?" responded Garomaw. "Oh, they were an acceptable loss. Though if it makes you feel better, I'll be sending you to see them very soon."

Summing up all his remaining strength, Danthor reached towards the back of his belt and found the hilt of his dagger (which originally belonged to Captain Vachon). Just as Garomaw was poising to slit Danthor's throat with one slash, he cried out and jammed his dagger right into Garomaw's thigh.

"AGHHH!" cried out Garomaw, recoiling in pain as Danthor managed to stand.

Before the rogue could react, Danthor punched him in the face with all of his might, sending him rocketing back against the wall. Moving as fast as he could, Danthor managed to bend over and pick up his fallen sword, just as Garomaw had recovered enough to rush towards the warrior.

Moving purely on instinct, Danthor turned around with his sword outstretched, and Garomaw found himself running straight into it, the blade easily piercing through his chest. He looked up at Danthor with disbelief, blood dripping from his mouth.

"Was supposed to be . . . victorious at taking the . . ." he began, speaking so softly that even Danthor strained to hear it.

Danthor rammed the sword in even further. He stared directly at Garomaw's eyes and said boldly, "This is for my mother, Marsha Kurock, and my sister, Kayla Kurock! The Light has seen to it that justice has been served, and I have no pity for you."

He pulled the sword out, leaving Garomaw to wordlessly drop the floor, letting out one more pained breath before dying. Danthor dropped his sword and gripped Garomaw's armor, grunting as he slowly started to drag his corpse through the cathedral. His face was red and sweaty as he arrived at the exit to see the battle still going on outside.

Using the last of his diminishing strength, he kicked Garomaw's body down the stairs and threw his poisoned sword down with it, causing a clattering sound. _"YOUR COMMANDER IS DEAD!"_ the warrior roared.

All the soldiers in the area immediately looked up to see a tired and bloodied Danthor standing over the corpse of Garomaw.

_"THIS IS SCARLET CRUSADE LAND,"_ he continued, _"AND I SUGGEST YOU GET OFF OF IT!"_

He wasn't able to see the results of his words, as the combination of his wounds and the poison finally caught up with him, and Danthor collapsed in unconsciousness.

* * *

><p><em>What next?<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	25. In the Presence of Ash

And after the battle . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraft_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>25: In the Presence of Ash<span>**

The next week was a blur for Danthor, with only murky patches of memory coming to him, mostly doing mundane things like eating or drinking.

Still, a week after the assault on the Scarlet Monastery, Danthor slowly came around to full consciousness. He looked around, gathering his wits and trying to formulate exactly where and when he was.

"Looks like you're awake."

Danthor would've leapt up in his bed in surprise if he could, but the pain in his body stopped him from doing so. He looked at the author of the voice and saw that it was none other than Lethella Borman. She looked to be recovering from some wounds herself, yet she was still dressed in the typical battle mage chainmail attire, complete with a red headband. While he was sitting in a bed covered in bandages.

"Where am I?" he asked slowly.

"The recovery room in the cathedral wing," she answered. "You've been out for quite a while, you know."

Danthor looked around and saw several other wounded crusaders lying in bed. Still, he _was_ still at the Scarlet Monastery, so that meant . . .

"So we fought them off, then."

Lethella grinned. "Yep. After seeing that all their leaders were killed—and how couldn't they with that big spectacle you made—the Forsaken lost all heart and started a retreat. We killed as many of them as we still could, but with heavy losses of our own, we were much more lenient."

Danthor nodded. "So what's happening now?"

"We've been completely focused on rebuilding for the past week," Lethella answered. "Repairing buildings, healing the wounded, calling in crusaders from all over Tirisfal to help, et cetera. And as far as we know, there've been no more planned attacks from the Forsaken."

"Good." He closed his eyes.

"Danthor?"

He opened his eyes. "Hmm?"

"I just wanted to say thanks," she said. "Without you, I don't think we'd be here today."

He smiled weakly. "Please, I'm just a common soldier."

"You're much more than that," Lethella replied. "You're a hero to everyone at the monastery, and you're—"

"Hey, he's finally up?"

Both of them looked at the entrance of the room to see Balean and Jonas entering through the door. The hunter scratched the back of his head and said to his companion, "See, we leave to go get some food for thirty minutes, and he's wide awake."

Both of them looked different than he remembered. Balean was now wearing more standard Scarlet Crusade red chainmail, complimented by a pair of pointed red shoulderpads. He, too, was wearing a red headband on his forehead. Quite a change from the leather of a grizzled tracker he was wearing previously.

Jonas wore the same type of chainmail, only with larger read shoulderpads resting on his broad shoulders. The biggest change was the red helmet now over his head, with an opening forming a T that allowed him to see and breathe. The helmet also had a pair of small red wings projecting from the sides of the helmet. Strapped to his back was a heavy-looking two-handed mace. He looked eerily similar to a Scarlet champion.

The two went over and kneeled down by his side. Jonas ruffled his hair and said, "Wide awake now are ya? We thought you'd be in that zombie-like state forever."

Danthor playfully slapped Jonas's hand away. He grinned and said, "Good to see you two as well."

"You should be grateful to us, you know," Balean stated. "We've been at your side for the entire week. Though I've been doing it to get out of the manual labor that comes with repairing the broken walls." He leaned in closer to the warrior. "You should especially be grateful to her."

"What?" asked Lethella. "Why?"

Jonas laughed. "She was the one who was here the most out of all of us. She barely left to eat or drink."

"Oh." Danthor looked at Lethella and saw that she was starting to turn red. He quickly changed the subject. "If you don't mind me asking, what's with the new armor?"

"Oh, this?" Jonas asked, taking off his helmet and setting it down next to him.

"This is the armor of newly promoted crusaders," finished Balean.

"You guys got promoted?"

Jonas nodded. "Whitemane saw the heroics displayed by all four of us when we decided to rally the crusaders to battle, so she put a good word in for us with Mograine, and before we knew it, we all got promoted. For example, I am now a Scarlet champion."

"And I have become Huntsman Balean. Quite an improvement in title over beastmaster, I think."

Danthor looked over at Lethella, who looked right back at him. "And you?" he asked.

She nodded. "You're now looking at Lethella the Warmage."

"Well that's great guys, really," Danthor said.

Jonas looked like he was hit with a realization, saying, "Oh, that reminds me."

He reached down under the bed and brought up an entirely new set of armor. "What's this?"

"Your new armor, of course," Balean said. "You've been promoted to a Scarlet knight, my friend."

"Really?" He was genuinely surprised. So soon after he'd been promoted to a defender, too. Looks like he really was moving up in the organization.

He looked at the armor. It was the same kind of chainmail he wore previously, with the biggest difference being that he now had two shoulder pads (_And thank the Light for that,_ he thought to himself) that were similar to the ones Jonas was wearing and that he had a mail coif to protect his head. He saw that the sword was similar to what he had, but he stopped right when he saw the shield resting at the bottom.

It was burnished and appeared to be made of a stronger metal than copper, unlike his last shield. Still, it was clearly strong, yet lightweight. What remarked him most about it was its design. It was white and had a red trim around the edges and a red flame right in the center, just like the tabard of the Crusade.

"A gift from Mograine personally," Jonas remarked. "He said only the best crusaders get to use an aegis like that."

Danthor nodded absently. Then, Balean said, "Oh shit, almost forgot." He turned to Danthor and Lethella. "While we were out, we were hearing rumors of a visitor looking for specific crusaders. Apparently, he's high-ranking in the Crusade."

"Who?" asked the warmage.

Balean was about to answer, but as if by magic, the very man walked through the door, saying, "I'm looking for crusaders Jonas, Lethella, Balean, and Danthor. Might they be here?" He spoke rather quickly.

"That's us," Danthor said, raising his arm.

The man saluted and walked over to them. He was taller than most humans, standing a little over six feet. He had graying hair fashioned into a crew cut and a full beard to match. He dressed in very stylized red chainmail, and the red mail headband across his forehead (as opposed to the cloth ones Balean and Lethella wore), decorated two-handed sword strapped to his back, and Scarlet tabard signified by a gold trim and red vertical stripe down the middle through the flame said that he certainly did have rank within the Scarlet Crusade.

He stopped at the foot of the bed and looked at all of them, saluting again. "My name is Joshua Valdelmar, otherwise known as Crusader Lord Valdelmar of the Scarlet Crusade, acting general at Tyr's Hand in theEastern Plaguelands."

Unsure of what to do, all four of them saluted back.

Valdelmar looked the four crusaders over. "So I hear you're the four heroes that rallied the troops in a counterattack to save the monastery. Word of your deeds has spread all throughout the Crusade. I come at the order of High General Abbendis herself."

"What does she want with us?" chanced Balean.

"To the point. I like it," Valdelmar said curtly. "I've come to let you four know that you're being reassigned to serve at Tyr's Hand in the Plaguelands. Otherwise known as the Scarlet Enclave."

"Reassigned?" asked Danthor. "Does that mean our training is done?"

Valdelmar nodded. "Such is the truth of all who are reassigned to serve the Crusade elsewhere. Congratulations. It would appear that your prestige in the recent assault has made you very noticed. We'll leave early tomorrow morning with a handful of other crusaders."

Danthor didn't voice any complaints about leaving so soon. He would welcome getting out of the bed he spent the better part of a week in. Besides, he felt fine enough to travel. What did bother him was how _sudden_ all of this was happening. "Don't we have some time to think about this?"

Valdelmar tilted his head quizzically, as if he didn't understand. Finally, he said: "I'm afraid not. This is an order from the high general herself. I _will_ be escorting you to the Plaguelands tomorrow at dawn. I suggest you spend the rest of your time here packing whatever you need. Once again, congratulations. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a few more crusaders to track down."

He didn't leave any time for response, as he quickly turned around and left the room. Danthor supposed he knew this day would eventually come

_("you are all here to be trained by me and the other leaders here until you are able to do combat with the undead. after that, some of you will stay behind here to help protect the monastery, but most of you will be shipped off to where the Crusade needs the most help")_

but it certainly didn't expect it to happen _this_ soon.

"Well that was . . . sudden," Lethella remarked.

All four of them agreed.

— — —

Scarlet Commander Renault Mograine sighed heavily, then rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to look at the reconstruction plans on the altar in the currently empty cathedral anymore. He knew the next few days planned already, and he had Herod to lead the crusaders in the construction.

Crusader Lord Valdelmar left early yesterday morning with about twenty of his finest crusaders. He knew it was a direct order from Abbendis, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Especially losing those four that had apparently rallied the troops enough to force the Forsaken back. He learned all this through Whitemane, of course. He was passed out during the time.

Still, he was fully recovered in a few days' time, and now focused on the construction. Every able-bodied crusader was busy working (with a few exceptions; there always were) to repair everything that was destroyed during the assault. Most of the work came from repairing the walls and giving the bodies a proper burial—both of which were time-consuming.

Sighing again, he looked around at the empty cathedral. The large hole through the door allowed him to hear all the noise outside, mostly of crusaders working. Sally Whitemane was busy praying in her private room, just across from the altar. He closed his eyes, feeling restless for some reason. After a few minutes, he noticed something peculiar. He couldn't hear any noise coming from the outside. He could only hear footsteps coming closer . . .

"Nice to see you again." The foreign voice had a powerful and echo-like quality to it.

Renault's eyes shot open. He looked down to see a human slowly walking down the processional towards him. The man wore matching cobalt-colored plate armor. It was heavily stylized with the design of chains and skulls, the most prominent skull being placed squarely on the chest-plate. He wore _massive_ pauldrons that were also adorned with a skull on each whose eyes and mouth gave off a blue aura. The man wore a helmet that covered everything but his mouth. It was made to look like a fearsome skull, and had two large horns protruding straight upwards from both sides. He had a large blade strapped to his back. The strangest thing about his armor was that Renault couldn't immediately tell what kind of metal it was made out of. Its color made it look foreign to him.

One look at him and the commander immediately knew that he was a death knight—the most powerful warriors of the Lich King.

"Crusaders, to the cathedral!" Renault roared at the top of his lungs. "The Scourge have entered! To arms, my brothers!"

The death knight chuckled. "I'm afraid no one around will hear you. They're too busy either being raised from the dead or being eaten by my ghouls."

"What?"

The doors to High Inquisitor Whitemane's personal chamber opened and she came rushing out. "What is it, my champion?"

She stopped at Renault's side when she saw the death knight still walking towards both of them. He looked around at the cathedral and said, "Looks like you've been living relatively well since the last time I saw you. Since the betrayal . . ."

"Who are you?" Renault demanded.

The death knight chuckled yet again. "How soon we forget . . ."

"Enough!" Whitemane claimed, rushing towards the death knight with her staff at the ready. "Prepare to be purged by the Light!"

"Sally, wait!" yelled Renault.

Whitemane was about to strike, but the death knight was much quicker than she was, and faster than Renault could even see, he drew the blade at his back and dealt the high inquisitor a deathblow. She gave out one small cry before crumpling to the floor in front of him.

Renault immediately drew his mace and began running towards the death knight, yelling, "You monster! You—"

He stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he saw the weapon the undead was wielding. The sword was singularly large, with a red handle and hilt fashioned in an L in exactly the same style as the Crusade's banners. The blade itself was a solid rectangle of steel, having a diagonal end that led to a sharpened tip. The most noticeable thing about the sword was the semi-circle that was cut into the blade, a white skull with green eyes hovering just slightly above it.

Renault knew that blade. "That's . . . the Ashbringer . . ."

"Yes, you should know of it well," the death knight said. "Though it's been a bit corrupted since the last time you've seen it. An unfortunate result of you shoving it through our father's back."

"You're . . ."

The death knight chuckled yet again, taking off his helmet. "I'm surprised it took you this long to remember, brother."

His face was unmistakable. His flesh had taken on a sickly pale color and his eyes glowed a horrible blue, but the matted light-orange hair and face told no lies. Standing before the commander was Darion Mograine, son of Alexandros Mograine, and Renault's younger brother.

"Darion," Renault started. "How did you get a hold of the Ashbringer?"

"I'm sure you'd have no way of knowing," Darion said with disgust. "I mean, after you struck a deal with Dathrohan to lure our father into a trap at Stratholme, killing him with his own blade when he was weakened—and all for power and rank within the Crusade—I'd imagine you ran as fast as you could to escape punishment."

Renault was at a loss for words.

"Alexandros Mograine was turned into a death knight by Kel'Thuzad," Darion said. "He took the now-corrupted Ashbringer with him to the floating necropolis of Naxxramas. I was a part of the Argent Dawn at the time it appeared over theEastern Plaguelands, and I put together an assault force to rescue some prisoners. It was there that I encountered father, and was able to slay him. Doing so must've angered Kel'Thuzad, for he killed my entire crew and had Naxxramas leave the Plaguelands for good. I was the only survivor, with this as my only prize."

He wave the corrupted Ashbringer in front of Renault.

"By the time I stumbled back to Light's Hope Chapel a few days later," he continued, "it was under attack by the Scourge—led by Kel'Thuzad himself, if you can believe it! And even though I had killed him, I continued to hear father's whispers through the blade. In the heat of battle, I came to a realization. That in order to save father's soul, I had to plunge the Ashbringer through my own heart to replace his corrupted soul with mine. The result destroyed all the Scourge attacking _except_ Kel'Thuzad, who was patiently waiting for me to rise into undeath. Thus, I became forever damned as a servant of the Lich King, as you can see."

Renault gripped his mace a little tighter.

"Yet even though I saved father's soul by damning my own, he continued whispering to me through the blade. His voices always kept telling me to come here to the monastery, but the Lich King's voice in my head was stronger, so I never did. Fortunately, he's decided to raze this entire place as a testament to the Scourge, so I volunteered to lead the charge." He smiled, showing his rotted teeth. "Killing two birds with one stone."

Renault had heard enough. Letting out a fearsome battle cry, he rushed towards his younger brother with his mace raised up, ready to crush his skull. Darion was too quick, unfortunately, and knocked the mace right out of his hands with his own weapon.

"I'm afraid I cannot personally kill you," he said, "as much as I'd like to. No, in order to get father's incessant ramblings out of my head for good, I'm hoping this final act of vengeance will finally sate him."

As soon as he said that, light began to emerge from the corrupted Ashbringer. It took the form of the powerful Alexandros Mograine. He gripped his own spectral Ashbringer, uncorrupted—a golden circle with a palm inscribed on it floating where the skull was on Darion's own blade.

"Renault . . ." he said.

Needless to say, the Scarlet commander was taken aback at this turn of events. "Father . . .but . . . how?"

Alexandros looked at his now adult son and said, "Did you think that your betrayal would be forgotten—lost in the carefully planned cover-up of my death? Blood of my blood, the blade felt your cruelty long after my heart had stopped beating; and in death, I knew what you had done . . . But now, the chains of Kel'Thuzad hold me no more. I come to serve justice. I AM ASHBRINGER!"

Renault recoiled in fear, holding his arms feebly up for a defense. "Forgive me, father! Please . . ."

Faster than even Darion could see, Alexandros swung his spectral Ashbringer at Renault, beheading him with a single strike. "You are forgiven . . ."

The commander's body dropped to the ground in a heap as Alexandros turned to his other son, the death knight.

"Your deed is done," Darion said. "Now you can finally leave me and this world forever! Your presence has more than worn out its welcome."

The image of Alexandros shook his head. "No, my son. My time in this world is not yet finished, for there is more to be done. When the hour of reckoning finally comes, you'll know. Until then, I guess you'll just have to tolerate my 'presence' a little longer."

With that, he disappeared back into the corrupted Ashbringer. Darion stared at the blade and roared, "No! Damn you, old man!"

His voice echoed throughout the halls of the Crusader's Chapel. Looking around, Darion regained his composure and sheathed his blade. In the end, it didn't matter. The Lich King's voice was the only one he really heard, and right now it was telling him to leave the monastery in ruins and then head back to him as soon as possible. They had the next phase of their plan to discuss.

At Acherus.

Putting his helmet back on, Darion strode through the processional, getting ready to tell his undead minions to burn the cathedral down. Such a shame, though. It really was beautifully designed.

Tilting his head backwards, Darion let out a raucous, echoing laugh.

* * *

><p><em>The threat of the Scourge on the horizon . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	26. The Crusade's Capital

The start of a new adventure! Enjoy!

**So college has really been kicking my ass recently, which hinders my writing time. As such, I'll be updating once a week every Wednesday now. Sorry!**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><em>Part 2: At the Enclave<em>

I called the doctor on the telephone,  
>Said doctor, doctor, please,<br>I got this feeling, rocking and reeling,  
>Tell me, what can it be?<br>Is it some new disease?  
>—The Sylvers<p>

Out of the blue and into the black.  
>—Neil Young<p>

—

**26: The Crusade's Capital**

For the second time in his life, Danthor found himself sitting across a table from High General Brigitte Abbendis.

Fortunately, he wasn't alone this time. He had his three friends at his side . . .

Crusader Lord Valdelmar was true to his word, and Danthor, Jonas, Lethella, Balean, and Kojak left the Scarlet Monastery at the crack of dawn along with twenty other crusaders or so. They all piled into a wagon (with Valdelmar riding up front), and in two days time, they were at Tyr's Hand in the Eastern Plaguelands.

"Tyr's Hand is known as the City of Churches," Myles Sharn told Danthor as he idly looked out at the passing landscape. Since his successful return from the Haunt and Mills and subsequent battle (and survival) of the battle at the monastery, Myles had been promoted from a Scarlet gallant to a full-fledged paladin and was one of the handpicked by Valdelmar to come on the journey.

Danthor looked to the paladin sitting across from him and nodded. "It's both the Crusade's religious and military center due to Isillien's insistence that the war against the undead was best waged in the Eastern Plaguelands."

Myles only smiled and nodded. He, quite frankly, looked surprised that Danthor had such knowledge on the Crusade's history regarding this place. In truth, he had read all about it in his downtime, but there was another, even more important, reason. He had been here before.

Still, it was easy to see why Tyr's Hand was seen as the capital of the Crusade. It was huge, standing in the southeastern corner of the Eastern Plaguelandsand surrounded on both sides by mountains. The location was a natural fortress. Its front was guarded by a massive wall made of white stone, with two heavy wooden doors standing at its center acting as the only way in and out.

Valdelmar stopped the wagon as soon as they reached the gate. The crusaders patrolling the ramparts noticed it immediately, and one called down. "Who goes there?"

"It is Crusader Lord Valdelmar," he called back in a bellowing tone. "I come bearing new crusaders to join our ranks. Open the door!"

This seemed to satisfy the guards, as the gate opened, allowing access into the area. As the wagon pulled in, the first thing Danthor noticed about the place was (like the cathedral wing of the monastery) how green and alive everything was. The land outside of Tyr's Hand was brown and dying—it wasn't called the Plaguelands for nothing—but in here, it looks like it's never been touched by the taint of undeath. Probably because it hasn't. Healthy-looking trees were growing abound, and the plant-life on the mountains surrounding the area was lush and green.

The second thing he noticed was that Tyr's Hand really _did_ look like the city of churches. From just his brief glance around the fortified area, he counted an abbey near the center, a chapel near the mountains, and a cathedral near the back of the area, just as large as the one at the Scarlet Monastery (and similarly designed, by the looks of it).

Kojak was the first to dignify a response to what they all saw, with a bark of course. Balean scratched his back and said, "I know boy, I see it too. It's beautiful."

Valdelmar stopped the wagon near the center of the area, signified by a fountain at the center of a circular walkway, which led to the abbey on their left and a large fortress-like keep, which Danthor assumed were their headquarters, on their right. If they went further straight down the path, they'd hit the basilica—or cathedral—with the considerably smaller chapel off to its right. Beyond the basilica the path continued to another pair of gates, but Danthor couldn't see beyond that, as mountains blocked everything behind the cathedral.

The crusader lord appeared behind the wagon and hit the side, saying, "Alright, here's our stop. Get on out."

The twenty-five or so crusaders obeyed, slowly piling out of the cart. Danthor looked near the front wall and saw several camps set up near it, each housing around seven or so crusaders. They were no doubt the first responders if a breach ever actually _did_ occur.

Valdelmar pointed to the abbey at their left and said, "You will all go into the Tyr's Hand Abbey where you'll sign up and we can officially put your names on our roster. Afterwards, you'll be told where to go next." He gave all the crusaders a curt salute. "You should all be proud, only the elite of the elite get assigned to either Tyr's Hand or Hearthglen. Dismissed!"

The crusaders began to walk along the path towards the sizeable abbey. Danthor, Lethella, Balean, Kojak, and Jonas were among the group, but they were stopped when Valdelmar held his hand out in front of them. "What's going on?" Jonas asked.

"You four"—he looked down and saw Kojak—"five, sorry, are to recruit directly to the Scarlet Headquarters and meet with the high general herself. She'd like to have a word with you. I'll show you the way. Please, follow me."

Valdelmar moved to the path on the right, towards the headquarters. It was built entirely out of stone and was comprised of four tower-like structures that complete the four corners of the rectangle-shaped building in the center. The front two towers bore a red banner with a gold staff-like shape in the center—the symbol of the Light in the Crusade.

Two Scarlet knights guarded the entrance of the headquarters, and saluted when they saw the crusader lord coming forth. He saluted back, and the six of them (including Kojak) entered. They immediately hit a dead-end of a solid stone wall and could go either right or left to continue onwards. Valdelmar opted for the latter, and the rest followed suit. As they passed by a room-sized pantry and hung a left towards the wooden staircase that would lead them up to the second story, Danthor felt a strange feeling of déjà vu.

And why shouldn't he? He'd been at Tyr's Hand before, after all. But that was when they were still unsure of his loyalties (or if he was even a human at all). When he was sent here on a cargo run a few months ago, they made sure to cover his head with a black bag as soon as they were in range of Tyr's Hand (even on his way out to the monastery), and as a result all that he saw today really was new to him.

All, except for the Scarlet Headquarters. That one he had seen before, but he'd really only caught a glimpse of it. All he knew was that behind the headquarters, down a little path that led into the mountains, was another building hidden from view. That was the building where they kept all their prospective recruits for the better part of a month. Danthor was sure Lethella knew this little-known fact as well, as she was no doubt subjected to the same kinds of tests in those cells as he was.

He pushed those unsavory thoughts out of his mind as they ascended the stairs onto the second level, went up a small ramp, and eventually made it up into the main room of the keep, where High General Abbendis was waiting for them. The room was square and relatively plain, only decorated by a series of candle-holders and a large table that had a series of maps and memos scattered around it.

She looked at the crusaders that entered and smiled. She looked exactly like Danthor remembered her. "Thank you, Valdelmar. You are dismissed."

The crusader lord saluted, replying with, "Thank you, high general. I'll take my leave now."

When he left, Abbendis motioned for the four to have a seat. Descending the stairs to a slightly-elevated plateau at the back of the room, they did as she asked. She took her own seat across from them and smiled pleasantly. "So you're the four I've been hearing so much about. Now I'm afraid you all know my name, but I don't know yours. How about you introduce yourself?"

"Jonas Merrigan, paladin."

"Lethella Borman, battle mage."

"Balean Orthel, hunter, and Kojak, tracking dog."

"Danthor Kurock, warrior."

Abbendis looked at Danthor and Lethella with the faintest hint of remembrance in her eyes, but seemed to lose that thought and moved on. "Yes, that's right, I remember now. High Inquisitor Whitemane and Scarlet Commander Mograine have told me so much about your heroics in repelling the Forsaken forces from the monastery. For that act alone, you have my thanks."

Danthor nodded. "We were just doing our duty. We didn't want to see the monastery fall to the undead, that's all."

Abbendis nodded. "Admirable, it truly is. We here at the Crusade value people with that kind of thinking. Unfortunately, it appears as though your efforts were ultimately for naught, as I just got a message from Tirisfal that said that the Scarlet Monastery is no more, completely destroyed by the Scourge."

"What?" Lethella said.

"Were there any survivors?" asked Jonas.

Abbendis shook her head. "It's unfortunate, but the Light works in mysterious ways. It seems like it's trying to send us a message with all that's been happening, recently."

"Like what? What's been happening?" demanded Danthor.

Abbendis stood up and turned around, facing a rather large map of what used to be Lordaeron placed on the wall. "A week ago, I received word that the Scarlet Bastion in Stratholme has succumbed to the might of the undead. This unfortunately, resulted in the death of Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan, our valiant leader. This was coupled with the fact that Hearthglen has lost their main leadership due to infighting between Grand Inquisitor Isillien and Highlord Taelan Fordring; the two ultimately killed each other. In order to keep stabilization in theWestern Plaguelands, I've appointed High Commander Galvar Pureblood to take over, but until he can rebuild his forces, Hearthglen is incapacitated."

"By the Light . . ." Jonas muttered.

Abbendis turned around solemnly. "This means that the Scarlet Enclave is the only safe haven for all of humanity left in Lordaeron. It also means, that with the death of every other figurehead, that I am now the main leader of the Crusade. Still, I've learned that the Light works in mysterious ways, and this could be a blessing in disguise."

"How?" asked Balean.

"It could be the Light's way of telling us to stop with our petty squabbling and infighting and focus on what really matters: eradicating the Scourge," Abbendis answered. "As a result, I've called back nearly all surviving crusaders to Tyr's Hand to establish our dominance in the Eastern Plaguelands. The Enclave has a total population of about nine thousand, we estimate. Five thousand of which are crusaders."

"That's quite a number . . ." Lethella remarked.

"Indeed; which is where you four come in." She returned to her seat and stared at all four of them. "I'll be frank: spirits are low amongst the Crusade right now. How couldn't they be? What we need are heroes to rally the troops and lead them into battle, to return their faith into the Light. Your heroic story at the monastery is perfect."

Danthor was started to get uncomfortable being there. "So what does that mean for us?"

Abbendis cracked a grin (suspiciously like the one Danthor saw her give after he'd been "enlightened" in his cell) and looked at the knight. "Why, it means you four are going to learn how to become officers within the Crusade. Five thousand is a lot of troops to control, so we'll need some help."

"Officers?" Jonas said. "We barely just got out of training ourselves."

Lethella's eyes burned at this news. "Does this mean we'll be on the frontlines fighting with the Scourge?"

"Until we restore Lordaeron to its former glory."

Danthor was siding with Jonas on this issue. "But, high general, with all due respect, we're new recruits ourselves. Wouldn't it be better to pick from some of the more battle-hardened veterans?"

"We will, of course," she responded, "but the Holy Light always shows itself in the times of great trials, mostly in forms we'd never suspect." She looked directly at Danthor. "I told you the first time I met you that the Light finds purpose for all who serve it."

Just hearing those words sent shivers down Danthor's spine. He _definitely_ was getting more uncomfortable being in her presence.

Abbendis stretched both her arms out in a divine gesture. "You four have been sent directly to us by the Light. Yes, you're new yourselves, but that will serve as the perfect message to the disheartened soldiers. If such young crusaders can achieve high prestige within the organization, they should be able to as well. It will push them to achieve greater heights."

"Makes sense to me," Balean said.

_Of course it does,_ Danthor thought. _You've actually _commanded_ troops in battle before. You should feel right at home here; maybe Jonas and Lethella too. As for me, though . . ._

"It should be noted that there will be no arguments here," Abbendis said. "This is a direct order. Don't worry, we won't throw you into an army of undead alone. We'll teach you along the way. Just remember that the Light brings miracles when they're least expected. Serve it proudly, and you will be protected. That's all for now. Head over to the abbey and get signed up with the rest of the recruits."

The four stood up and began to leave the room. Just as Danthor was about to leave, he heard her speak;

"Danthor?"

He stopped, turned around.

"The Light helps those that help themselves. Remember that."

"Yes, ma'am."

Danthor left the war room a little faster than before. He was relieved to be out of Abbendis's direct line of sight.

* * *

><p><em>A new objective!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	27. The Blessing and Warning

At Tyr's Hand . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>27: The Blessing and Warning<span>**

"Alright, I want to have your undivided attention," Crusader Lord Valdelmar said to the crusaders gathered at the Scarlet Basilica. "This information could mean life or death."

Looking around, Danthor found that the basilica's interior was near identical to the Crusader's Chapel at the monastery. He attributed it to the fact that they probably had the same architect, who built both strongholds long before the Scarlet Crusade ever came about.

They were led to the basement of the basilica, a sturdy square room that lacked the splendor of the main hall. Instead of having white, marble walls with oaken pews facing an altar, it had brown bricks surrounding a few wooden chairs with one speaking podium in front of them.

Valdelmar motioned for the ten crusaders to sit down as he took his spot at the podium. Behind him was a map of the Eastern Plaguelands. "I'm sure you all know why you're here. You have been judged and chosen to be the best among your peers, so it's the job of those higher up to make sure you live up to your full potential."

Danthor, Jonas, Lethella, and Balean got through their registration at the Tyr's Hand Abbey without a problem

_("reminds me of the abbey in Northshire where I grew up," Jonas had told them)_

and spent their first few days within the Scarlet stronghold, mostly getting familiar with their surroundings. After their conversation with Abbendis, nothing was asked of them, and Danthor preferred it that way. Balean and Lethella had other thoughts on the matter. When Valdelmar approached them and told them they were to meet at the basilica the next day, the four had mixed feelings on the subject.

"There's a lot that goes into being a good commander," continued the crusader lord. "But what's most important is having two things: intelligence and respect. Without them, you'll never succeed. The respect will come with time, and some of you may have already achieved some"—he looked at the four crusaders who had repelled the Forsaken at the Scarlet Monastery—"but what I'm really here to teach you about is how gain the former of the two."

"This oughta be good," Myles Sharn whispered into Danthor's ear. He, too, had been invited to the meeting.

"The most important job a commander does is lead, and if the commander himself doesn't know what he's doing, then the men he's leading are doomed for failure. Natural intelligence is something that can't be taught, but there are methods that every leader should know and use effectively. This will be our first subject."

Valdelmar tapped the map behind him, specifically at a small town just outside of Tyr's Hand.

"It's called Corin's Crossing," he explained. "Once a somewhat successful town on the crossroads of the Eastern Plaguelands, it quickly fell to the Scourge as a strategic outpost. The towns crawling with ghouls, skeletons, abominations, banshees, and all other types of undead. And they're powerful. We know little about this area in its current state, so we're going to go find out ourselves."

"Ten of us against an army of Scourge?" asked Balean out loud. "Sounds more like a suicide mission to me."

Valdelmar shot him a glance. "Obviously, Crusader Orthel, we're not going to engage the entire town alone. As leaders, our job is to stay alive and command our troops effectively. But that can't be done if we don't know about the situation ourselves. That's why we're going on an intelligence mission—or scouting run, if you'd prefer—to map out every little thing we'd need to know about the town. Intelligence gathering is always first when formulating an effective strategy. And by the end of this, we'll lead crusaders into the town and claim it for our own."

Jonas raised his hand. "Gathering intelligence is the job of scouts. Why are we personally going out there without anyone to lead?"

"Any group larger than ours is more likely to be spotted," Valdelmar explained. "And you're right, normally we _wouldn't_ be stepping anywhere near the staging ground for our attack, but most of you know little about the areas surrounding the stronghold, so this will help you in two ways: familiarizing yourself with the land and seeing firsthand what kind of information is vital to setting up a plan of attack."

The eleven crusaders in the room heard footsteps descending the stairs to their right. Looking up, Danthor saw a man dressed in regal robes, light-imbued spiked shoulderpads, and a vertical red abbot's hat with the Symbol of the Light. He had a black beard and a stern expression on his face. He swiftly moved to the back of the room, Valdelmar only nodding to acknowledge his presence.

"We leave when the sun sets," the crusader lord continued. "That gives you a few hours to pack enough supplies to last you until morning. With luck, we'll go in, get the information we need, then get back here without a problem. Understood?"

"Yes sir!" the ten crusaders all said at once.

Valdelmar motioned to the priestly man in the back, saying, "It's nice of you to pay us a visit, High Abbot Landgren."

Landgren's stern expression softened a bit, and he smiled. "It's always a pleasure to see the enthusiasm in such young men and women. It reminds me of why I joined the Crusade to begin with."

Valdelmar nodded and looked back at the commanders-in-the-making. "Since we are about to embark on a dangerous mission, it has always been customary to seek a blessing from the Light by the high abbot. I'm assuming that's what you've come here for, Landgren?"

"Indeed." He pointed his index finger upstairs into the main hall. "If you'd all follow me, I'd be more than happy to present each and every one of you with a personal blessing to ensure your safe return. I promise it won't take but a minute . . ."

— — —

Danthor was between Jonas and Lethella, with Myles bringing up the front of their five-person group. Still, they were near the back of the line that formed in the hall of the basilica, all the way up to the stairs that leads to the altar, where High Abbot Landgren stood, a staff that glowed white strapped onto his back.

Crusader Lord Valdelmar was the first to receive a blessing, as he knelt down while Landgren made a few motions and touched him on the head, speaking so softly that no one could hear him. When he was done, Valdelmar stood up and moved towards the front of the exit to wait for the others to be finished.

"Blessing, huh?" said Balean with a grunt. He was the very last in line. "In all my experience with battle, I've never seen any evidence that a few holy words protected anybody."

"He's always cranky when he doesn't have pet nearby, isn't he?" Myles asked to Jonas, who was directly behind him.

The paladin-champion nodded and snickered. "I wouldn't blame him too harshly. He grew up not learning about the Light's importance and had to live on his own."

"Damn straight!" Balean said from his spot. His tracker hearing never failed.

"Quiet!" said Lethella, putting her index finger to her lips. "At least respect what's going on around you."

Balean grunted again, only responding with, "The second I see the Holy Light intervene and protect somebody, I'll eat my own boot."

"We'll holdja to that one," Danthor said with a smirk.

The line moved fairly quickly, and before Danthor knew it, both Myles and Jonas had received their blessings, leaving him to move up the stairs alone. When he reached the top, Landgren said, "Kneel, my son."

Danthor did as he was told, and Landgren closed his eyes. He muttered softly to himself, but the knight could hear him if he strained his ears.

"Oh Holy Light, please bless this warrior with your benevolence. Make it so that we can see him returned safely, so he can continue serving you and your righteous deeds." He stopped for a second, causing Danthor to look up. "Yes, we all live to serve you, and I know in my heart that this boy is too important for him to leave us now. Thy will be done, and we all thank you for it. Amen."

"Amen," Danthor said quietly.

Landgren made a quick motion with his index finger, forming the shape of the cross on his hat in front of the knight. With that, Danthor rose, and Landgren opened his eyes, smiling at him.

"I've been doing this a long time," he said, "and I've heard the Light seldom speak to me directly. This is one of those instances. There's something about you, my child. Something special that the Light seems to understand. Take my word for it, as long as you serve the Holy Light, it will make sure you continue on to fulfill your great quest."

Danthor only nodded, saying, "Thank you."

He walked away, letting Lethella and Balean get their own blessings. He didn't talk to Jonas or Myles while they all waited with Valdelmar by the exit. When the remaining two crusaders finally did show up, the crusader lord saluted all of them and said, "Remember, meet here at sundown with all your equipment ready. Dismissed."

— — —

The watchful eyes of Instructor Razuvious scanned the room he had just entered.

He had been told that Acherus was so powerful that it could even destroy the dreaded citadel of Naxxramas. Razuvious himself doubted this fact. It was probably because he was still feeling a little nostalgic for his old home, but orders were orders, and the instructor wasn't stupid enough to go against the will of the Lich King. If he was told to go to Acherus, he would go, and go he did.

The floating Scourge necropolis certainly _reminded_ him of Naxxramas, albeit it was smaller. Even as he entered the necromantic room, Acherus was moving slowly past Stratholme and deeper into theEastern Plaguelands.

The first thing Razuvious saw was the large amount of makeshift tables set up that were covered in vials and tubes with multi-colored liquids inside of them. The second thing he saw were the bubbling plague cauldrons in the corner of the room. The third was the pile of corpses stacked near the back. And the fourth thing he saw was the form of Noth the Plaguebringer. The undead human necromancer was so busy fiddling with a ghoul on one table that he didn't even notice Razuvious walk in.

"Work going well?" he asked in a chilling voice that only death knights seemed to possess.

Noth looked up at the instructor with surprise on his face. "Ah, Razuvious, I didn't hear you enter. Yes, work is going well. Though I suppose I could do with a bit more space."

"I know it's not like your old setup at Naxxramas," Razuvious said, "but give it some time. I'm sure you'll get used to it. Maybe one day, we'll return to our _real_ base of operations, Lich King willing."

Noth nodded, overlooking the instructor. He was rather tall and muscular for a human. He had the same pale ashy complexion that the plaguebringer himself, showing that he, too, was undead. He had a gray crew cut to match his skin tone, and an eternally dour expression on his face. He dressed in blue-and-white plate armor, and had a two-handed runeblade strapped onto his back. Of all the companions that travelled with him to Acherus, Noth thought that Razuvious was by far the most intimidating.

Not that the necromancer was one to talk himself. He too had ashy skin and gray hair (along with a beard), but his hair was much longer than the instructors, parted down the middle and tied into two ponytails that hung on both his shoulders, commonly known as a barbarian style. He also dressed less flashy than Razuvious, with simple blue- and black-colored robes.

"I'd imagine you're here for a report," Noth eventually said.

Razuvious nodded. "The Lich King wants to know how you're progressing."

Noth looked at the ghoul on the table in front of him. "I've managed to make it so that the subject doesn't die when infected with the plague outright. It's better that he can live to spread it, after all—though it only takes a few hours to kill a living victim. Once it finally takes hold of the victim, they can spread the disease simply by being close to someone else, although the infection rate is less than perfect. Still, I've sent a few plague-ridden Scourge throughout the land."

Razuvious nodded. "Can it be spread by gas?"

Noth shook his head, looking over at the plague cauldrons. "No, not yet."

"The Lich King doesn't like waiting, Noth," Razuvious said. "He wants to wipe out all humans in the Plaguelands, and we can't do that if we're still trying to develop a new plague."

"If I perhaps had more time or equipment, I could go faster, but at its current stage, this is the best we've got," replied Noth.

A cold smile spread on Razuvious's face. "Then perhaps you can tell him that yourself once he gets here."

Noth's eyes widened. The instructor noticed he was starting to tremble slightly. "The Lich King . . . is coming here?"

"He is. And I'm sure he'll want results as soon as he gets here, so we can rid ourselves of the Argent Dawn and Scarlet Crusade."

Noth swallowed hard. "It won't be an issue, I assure you."

"Good. I should hope so." Razuvious looked over at the corpses behind Noth. "Oh, and I'm sure the Lich King will want an army ready to raze their civilizations to the ground once he gets here."

"Those?" asked Noth, looking at the bodies of every humanoid race imaginable on Azeroth put in a huge pile. "They're not the finest we've got."

Razuvious moved towards the bodies to inspect them, turning a dead night elf over slowly. "I'll be the judge of that. After all, it's my job to train them. It's _your_ job to bring them back to serve the Lich King."

"It shall be done," Noth said. "Now, if there's anything else . . ."

Instructor Razuvious shook his head. "No, that should be it, my friend. Highlord Mograine estimates us to arrive in a few days time, right around the time the Lich King should be arriving. I'm just making sure we're all prepared for that day."

Razuvious exited, leaving Noth the Plaguebringer alone in his own quarters, where he continued to work on perfecting his new plague and raising the corpses of slain races to serve the Lich King as death knights.

* * *

><p><em>Horror on the horizon!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	28. Scouting Run

The mission: Scout out Corin's Crossing! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>28: Scouting Run<span>**

"This place sure looks depressing . . ."

"It's no more depressing than any of the other towns we've seen that's been taken by the undead."

"Who cares what it looks like? We'll fix it once we've taken control."

"Assuming we don't get killed on this scouting mission. Weren't we supposed to be training to become leaders of the Crusade? I'd love to see the high general go on a paltry scouting run."

"Valdelmar explained this already. If you don't understand the importance of information-gathering, then I don't think you're cut out to be a leader anyways."

"What was that? I oughta throttle you where you stand, pup!"

_(a growl)_

"Silence! I don't want to hear another word out of any of you. We're almost there, so just keep your mouths shut until then."

Crusader Lord Valdelmar turned back around and away from Danthor, Jonas, Lethella, Balean, and Myles. As instructed, the ten fledgling commanders showed up at sundown with a pack full of supplies. Within ten minutes, they were marching out of the protecting gates of Tyr's Hand and into the rotting fields.

True to its name, Corin's Crossing were the true crossroads of the Eastern Plaguelands. Standing at the center of it all, the path that runs through the town leads all the way from Stratholme to Tyr's Hand to the city of Andorhal in the Western Plaguelands. The path leading directly out of the Crusade's base was somewhat well-kept, but as the group continued onwards towards the town, it began to quickly decay in quality. Eventually, Valdelmar led them off the path to a more indirect route as they got closer.

"Be wary," Valdelmar said. "There's more than undead to worry about here."

Before anyone could ask him what he meant by that, he held his arm out, indicating them to all stop. They did. Straining his eyes, Danthor could see signs of movement inside the town. Their slow and hobbling strides indicated that they were indeed undead.

"Get down."

The ten crusaders all dropped down as Valdelmar rummaged through his own bag and pulled out a small map, a blank piece of parchment, and a quill for writing. His voice was but a whisper when he spoke.

"There are invisible phantasms known only as Unseen Servants," he whispered. "They roam around the town and its outskirts. Don't give them any reason to come out this far and alert the others."

The group was silent. Valdelmar nodded with approval.

"We've been battling for control of this town for a long time, yet we could never win in a direct assault. What we're looking for is any crack in the Scourge's defenses that we could exploit to gain the upper-hand. That's all we need."

"Where do you usually attack from?" Lethella asked.

Valdelmar pointed to the path they were just on. "We don't get too close to the path east of us. That's Argent Dawn territory."

"Lights Hope Chapel, you mean," Lethella said.

"Yes."

Balean strained his skilled eyes to see a bridge on the western end of town, on the path leading to the Western Plaguelands. "What about that?"

Everyone looked over there, with Valdelmar responding. "It's a stone bridge. What about it?"

Danthor, Jonas, Myles, and Lethella's eyes lit up immediately.

"It's not too different from before," Jonas commented.

Myles nodded. "Easy enough spot to get their attention."

"And with a river underneath for an extra advantage," Lethella added.

Kojak's tail started thumping with excitement.

"What are you talking about?" demanded Valdelmar.

Danthor spoke for them. "While we were at the monastery, we were sent on a field test to take a patch of land called Garren's Haunt. While there, we fought with a group of Forsaken on a narrow path between two cliffs. We ambushed them and used the terrain to our advantage. Fighting tightly together allowed us to kill twenty with seven, only losing two of our own."

Valdelmar rubbed his chin. "So you think that same principle would work here, then, drawing the Scourge's attention to fight on the narrow bridge?"

"Yes, we believe so."

"Not a bad idea," the crusader lord said, "but not enough to take the entire town. Still, it's a start . . ."

"Then, if I may, sir," Jonas said, raising his hand.

Valdelmar nodded.

"I can see three direct paths through the town," the paladin-champion continued. "While the bridge plan is certainly a good start, I say we take advantage of the confusion that would be caused among the undead and launch a three-pronged attack from each path, closing in at the center and taking the town."

"With so many men, it wouldn't be impossible," Myles said, nodding his head.

Valdelmar seemed less convinced, though. "I should remind you that we're not just fighting mindless ghouls here. We'll be going against the quick-witted banshee, the towering abomination, and the magical skeleton as well. Our job is to minimize losses and maximize damage."

"With all due respect, sir," Lethella interjected, "our job is to rid the land of the Scourge. And we can't do that if we're too afraid of what we _might_ lose. We need to take this town at any cost."

A slow smile grew on Valdelmar's face. "While I'd normally agree with you, Crusader Borman, we have to think in the long-term as well. More dead soldiers means more undead for the Scourge, which can hurt us later. But you're thinking like a true leader; I like that."

Danthor kept his thoughts on the matter to himself.

Valdelmar surveyed the ten crusaders he brought with him and nodded at them, saying, "To be honest, there's not much more that can be seen around here. It's just a town, simple as that. There's no magic key to winning battles, as you'll eventually learn. For now, I guess we can just—"

The sound of hooves thundered on the ears of all eleven crusaders. They looked in the direction they were coming from to see a man riding on horseback leading several other varying humanoid races towards the direction of Corin's Crossing. The man on the horse evidently saw all of them, because he quickly moved off the path towards the crusaders.

Valdelmar grimaced. He gripped the handle of his sword and said, "Be ready for anything . . ."

The man on horseback stopped right in front of him. He was about as large as the crusader lord, with neatly-combed, short brown hair and matching gold-plated armor, including shoulderpads that had the image of an eagle protruding from the side. The most noticeable thing about him was his square glasses. He (and all the others following him, for that matter) wore a black tabard with a white trim. At the center was a white circle with golden rays protruding from it.

"Crusader Lord Valdelmar," the man with the glasses said. "What a surprise seeing you and your kind here."

"Dispatch Commander Metz," Valdelmar said. "I could say the same. May I ask what brings the Argent Dawn out here this day?"

Metz's horse gave a little whinny, but the commander kept him restrained. "Oh, just a little of this and that, you could say. The details don't really matter to you. Just know that we're here on business that will actually make a difference in fighting the Scourge." He smiled. "Something your kind can probably learn from."

"Watch it," Valdelmar said. "Scarlet Commander Marjhan may be able to put up with you at the Chapel, but that doesn't mean I have to. Now I'd suggest you go on your way before I decide to end our treaty myself."

Danthor had heard about Marjhan from Lethella. She was sent to Light's Hope Chapel as a representative in the uneasy pact between the Scarlet Crusade and the Argent Dawn to fight off the Scourge—more specifically Kel'Thuzad and Naxxramas. As far as he knew, she (and a few other representatives) still resided there.

Dispatch Commander Metz tilted his head slightly. "You still think we have an alliance? How cute . . . That ended as soon as Naxxramas disappeared to Light knows where." He touched the handle of the warhammer strapped to his back. "There've also been reports of members of the Dawn disappearing, and not because of the Scourge, either. I could take it upon myself to rid the Plaguelands of you and your cancerous kind once and for all. Maybe then, we could get some of the Light's work done."

"You claim to serve the Light, yet allow undead into your ranks." Valdelmar pointed to the undead behind Metz. He was balding at the center, yet had a bountiful amount of hair growing out all around the side of his head, sticking out in every direction. He reminded Danthor of a mad scientist. Still, he wore a tabard of the Argent Dawn like everyone else he was around.

Metz looked back and shrugged. "If Brack wants to join our ranks, that's his and the Forsaken's business. Now are you going to take my advice and leave or shall we force you?"

"We don't take orders from you," Valdelmar said. "But you're more than welcome to try and make us leave."

Metz drew his hammer, saying, "I'd normally be against creating more soldiers for the Scourge, but I'll make an exception for you. You'd probably be too brainless to help them anyway."

Valdelmar drew his sword, with all the crusaders behind him standing suit. They were clearly outnumbered, but that didn't matter. To Scarlet crusaders, death meant nothing. They would fight until the last man, if it came to it.

It didn't.

Just as Valdelmar andMetzwere about to strike, a black phantasm appeared a few feet away from both of them. Spotting such a large number of humans, it said in an eerie voice, "Intruders to the southeast! Kill them in the name of the Lich King! Intruders to the south—"

He was cut off as Jonas, Myles, and Metz all judged the creature with the Light at the same time, killing him instantly. Silently, he disappeared as a small black orb fell in his place, lifeless. What the phantasm had seen and said was enough, though. They were caught, and the Scourge would be coming soon.

"Idiots!" cursed Lethella at both Valdelmar and Metz. "You're bickering caught their attention and brought them all on us!"

The crusader lord and dispatch commander looked at each other, before Metz grunted and said, "I guess we'll have to put our little match on hold, as much as it pains me. Next time, though, I'll make it a point to beat your brains in."

"Not before I cut your foolish head off."

Metz raised his hammer into the air, saying, "Retreat, men! Back to Light's Hope!"

Valdelmar did the same. "No point in dying here! Back to Tyr's Hand"

The Scourge came upon them before anyone could move. The ghouls were by far the quickest, with the banshees coming up next. In the distance, the gargantuan abominations lumbered towards them. Valdelmar cut a ghoul down with his sword before pointing to the path back towards the Crusade's capital.

"Get moving!"

No one could follow his order, however, as they too found themselves fighting for their lives against the unusually-quick ghouls. Letting out high-pitched grunts, they threw themselves on the Crusade and Dawn alike, trying desperately to claw at their prey.

Balean popped off a quick bolt before turning to Danthor, who just blocked a ghoul's strike with his shield before cutting him down. "Watch out, the ghouls are the easiest to kill! We gotta get out of here before the reinforcements show up!"

"Let me know if you find an opening," Danthor shot back, running his sword through a hapless ghoul.

Jonas smashed through his enemies mercilessly, using the Holy Light to judge those running at him, burning them from the inside. Lethella blasted her opponents from afar with fire magic, and used her enchanted sword to kill those who were close to her. Kojak kept by his master's side, cautious about biting the rotting creatures.

Myles, too, found himself surrounded. He fought valiantly with his mace, killing enemies indiscriminately, but he let his guard down for a split second, and a ghoul snuck up on his side, sinking his teeth into his right forearm. Myles cried out in pain before slamming the mace into the ghoul's head, causing him to let go and die. He didn't have time to pay attention to the wound, however, so he kept on fighting for his life.

The Argent Dawn wasn't faring any better, either. Metz easily held his own, killing the ghouls from his horse, but his men didn't fare as well. They, too, found themselves surrounded. And although they fought valiantly, it was clear they couldn't keep fighting forever.

Finally, an opening appeared as the last of the ghouls fell. The banshees were quickly nearing striking distance, and neither party wanted to be around when they and the abominations showed up. Quick as lightning, everyone bolted towards their respective paths and bases.

Neither group bothered looking back at the other as they fled.

* * *

><p><em>An ambush splitting the party up!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	29. Talks at the Tavern

After breaking away from Corin's Crossing . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>29: Talks at the Tavern<span>**

They were halfway back to Tyr's Hand before they finally stopped.

The Scourge had stopped chasing them long ago, opting instead to return to Corin's Crossing and wait for further orders. Still, the crusaders didn't want to take their chances and continued running, until finally they could run no more. They stopped on the clear-cut path to catch their breath.

"Scourge must be . . . wired to not stray too far from their base . . ." Jonas said through his breath. "Lich King . . . doesn't want them doing anything without his approval . . ."

"Makes sense . . ." Lethella said, leaning down and gripping her legs.

Valdelmar straightened himself up after a few seconds, surveying the group. "Everyone here?"

Danthor, Jonas, Lethella, Myles (who was gripping his forearm), Balean, Kojak, and the five other crusaders had kept up with the crusader lord just fine. That was when Danthor noticed that the group wasn't _exactly_ the same as when they left.

"We're all here, but it looks like we've picked someone else up."

He motioned to the male undead sporting an Argent Dawn tabard. The undead Dispatch Commander Metz had referred to as Brack. His clothes were slightly tattered, he had a few cuts adorning his face, and he was missing his weapon. He, too, was out of breath, and wasn't looking too pleased.

Valdelmar looked at the hapless captive. "Oh, him. He was knocked unconscious by the ghouls when I found him, so I decided to bring him along with us as a little prize. He regained consciousness halfway through our run back."

Seeing that he was surrounded by several armed (and probably very zealous) Scarlet crusaders, Brack didn't make any move to escape. By the looks of a nasty-looking wound on his leg, he probably wouldn't get too far anyway. Still, that didn't stop his spiteful tongue.

"Cowardly humans!" he said. "Taking an unconscious man as a prisoner is the least honorable thing anyone can do! Do me a favor and just kill me now to save both of us the embarrassment!"

Valdelmar was silent as he strode over to Brack, who watched him through his lifeless eyes. Before he could even blink, Valdelmar rammed his fist into the undead's unprotected stomach. Brack grunted in pain, gripped his stomach, and doubled over.

"Shut your filthy, undead mouth!" Valdelmar said in a harsh whisper. "I would like nothing better than to kill you now—simply existing in your state is a crime against nature itself—but we have much better use for you."

Danthor took a step forward. "Wait, you mean _we're_ the cause of the recent disappearances Metz was referring to?"

Valdelmar looked at Danthor incredulously, almost as if saying, _What are you, an idiot? Who else would it be?_ He didn't even bother to answer his question. He just turned back to the coughing undead.

"You know, Brack doesn't sound very Forsaken," he said with a cruel sneer. "I thought you undead all changed your last names when freed from the Lich King?"

Brack coughed. "I served the Light in life as I do in death. There was no need to change my name—I'm not ashamed of it."

"I see . . ." Valdelmar smashed his fist across Brack's face, sending blood flying from his mouth and bringing him to the ground. "You know, that just makes me even more sick to my stomach."

"Stop, that's enough!" Danthor said.

Valdelmar looked straight at him. "What do you care? He's an undead, remember? He deserves to be purged on the spot."

Lethella stepped forward, putting her hand on Danthor's shoulder. "Still, he's a prisoner, and shouldn't be brought to the high general unable to speak. He'd be useless to her."

Brack looked up at the two while gripping his bleeding mouth in a pathetic attempt to stem the bleeding. Valdelmar looked at the two crusaders (who were flanked by Jonas and Balean, no less), before turning around and forcefully gripping Brack by his arm

_(Myles held his arm just as tight)_

and pulling him up. "On your feet and get walking. We've got more ground to cover before we're safe."

"May the Light see to it that you receive an agonizing death . . ." Brack said through his hand.

Valdelmar tilted his head back and laughed uproariously. When he was done, he turned to the undead and said, "The Light's abandoned you a long time ago, my friend. I'll not be taking insults from a heathen such as yourself."

They reached the gate of Tyr's Hand within twenty minutes.

— — —

Brack (they never did find out his first name) was bound and shipped off to the path beyond the basilica that Danthor had never been through. He was told by Valdelmar that the undead would be taken to the prisoner's quarters in a town called New Avalon just behind the mountains.

_Why not just take him to the place where I was tortured,_ Danthor couldn't help but think. _It makes no difference in the long run . . ._

He kept his thoughts to himself, though. He may be being trained as a commander, but that doesn't mean his opinions meant anything.

Upon arrival to the city, the ten crusaders were dismissed for the day. "Do whatever you like," Valdelmar had told them. "You deserve a break."

It was in the early hours of the morning at that point, and the group lumbered off to get some sleep. Danthor had found that he was still too keyed up to go to sleep. After half an hour of tossing in his bed (a small bed, granted, but better than a cot), he finally got up and left the barracks.

There was a tavern down the road past the basilica, in the town of New Avalon that was under the Crusade's protection. There, it appeared as though the splendor of Lordaeron still existed. There was not a sign of death in that town. At that point, almost everyone was asleep, but the tavern (located near an orchard) was still open.

Upon opening the door, he saw none other than Jonas, Balean, Myles, and Lethella sitting at the bar together. They all looked back as the bell above the door chimed, and immediately invited the knight over.

"Hey, 'bout time you showed up," Balean said, raising his half-finished glass of alcohol.

Danthor took the open seat next to Lethella. The bartender looked tired himself, but saw the danger in refusing service to five crusaders who helped protect his town, so he put on his most professional face. "What'll it be?"

"Just some ale," he said atonally, not even looking up at him.

His drink was given to him, and he greeted it with a sizeable gulp. Putting the glass down, he coughed a bit—the natural reaction to drinking too quickly. Lethella chuckled and patted him on the back several times. "Easy there. Don't wanna get drunk _too_ quickly."

Judging by her reddened cheeks, unusually calm demeanor, and glass of alcohol in her hand, Danthor concluded that Lethella Borman, warmage of the Scarlet Crusade, was a little drunk herself. Looking down the line, it looked that way with everyone—except for Myles, who didn't even look like he touched his drink. He also looked a lot paler than usual, and his eyes were red. He must've been tired.

"Ah, shaddup," Danthor said, taking another swig. "It's been a stressful day."

Jonas grinned at his friend. "We've had worse, yet a run-in with the Argent Dawn's enough to get you to hit the bottle?"

"I can actually _afford_ such luxuries while here," he replied with. "This place has more than enough defenses. It hardly needs us to protect it. Still, it was a bit unexpected."

"Running into Metz and his cheerful bunch?" Lethella asked with a hint of disgust in her voice.

Danthor shook his head. "What happened with Brack, I mean."

"Here we go . . ." Balean said, drinking from his glass.

Danthor looked at the huntsman. "You're saying what we did to him wasn't cruel and unnecessary?"

"I'm saying he's an undead," Balean shot back. "So who cares?"

"That's what I thought at first, too," Danthor said. "But after seeing how he acted, I kept getting the feeling that he was more and more human, not some mindless and cruel creature like Garomaw."

"The Light was with him," Jonas interjected. "I could feel it. Maybe that made the difference."

Danthor shrugged and took another drink. "Maybe. All I can say for sure is that watching Valdelmar attack a helpless prisoner like that made me angry, undead or not."

"I'll admit it made me a bit uncomfortable, too," Myles said. He was sweating slightly and still hadn't touched his drink. "But you've got to remember that he is also a member of the Forsaken, who—"

He cut himself off with a series of coughs. He covered his mouth and keeled over slightly, letting out several wheezing breaths. Then he looked at his hand and stood up immediately, even letting the chair he was sitting on fall over.

"Sorry," he said to the four crusaders staring at him. "I'm pretty tired . . . I think I'm gonna go to sleep now. Night everyone."

Before the four could respond, Myles left the inn, coughing a few more times while moving. The four looked at each other for a few seconds, before Lethella shrugged it off. "Long day . . . must be tired."

Balean let out a yawn. "Yeah, I suppose it is late. Sure was nice of Valdelmar to give us the rest of tomorrow off. It'll be nice to actually sleep in a bit for once."

"Yeah." Jonas nodded in agreement before finishing off the rest of his drink and standing up. "I think I'm gonna call it a night as well. Goodnight."

"Think I'll join you," Balean said, standing up and leaving his finished glass behind. "Night you two. Don't stay up too late . . ."

"Sissies!" Lethella cried out, finishing her own glass off. "Hey, top me off!"

The bartender did as he was told. Danthor was about halfway through his own glass at this point. "Not had enough yet, eh?"

"Hell no! You know how long its been since I've had a chance to unwind and drink?"

He thought it was probably too long.

Lethella took her newly-filled glass and held it upwards, saying to Danthor, "To the Crusade, and eventual downfall of the Scourge!"

"I can drink to that."

They clinked glasses and drank . . .

The sun hadn't risen by the time they staggered out of the tavern together, but it was clear that it was coming up soon. This added a bit of a timed element to getting back to their barracks to sleep, as they didn't want to be caught drunk in the early morning by the crusaders on patrol. That would no doubt ruin the "influential heroism" that had been touted so frequently by Abbendis to boost morale.

Between the two, it was clear that Lethella was far more inebriated. She could barely walk, yet refused help from Danthor in any way. "I can get back on my own . . . jusht you shee."

"Whatever you shey," Danthor said, raising his arms up in a motion that shown he had given up.

The coast was clear, and the two walked along the path that led away from New Avalon and back to the militaristic base of Tyr's Hand. For someone who was clearly not sober, Danthor had to admit she was composing herself quite well. Not that he was one to talk, though, as he had more than his fair share of drinks as well.

_Hey, I deserve it,_ he thought. _It's been a long time since I've cut back like that anyway . . ._

The woman's barracks were closer than the men's, so Danthor took it upon himself to walk Lethella to her sleeping quarters. The warmage stopped at the front door (still no guards in sight) and smiled at the knight. "That waesh fun. We should do it again shomtime."

Danthor nodded slowly. (He could already feel the headache coming on.) "You pick the time, and I'll be there."

Lethella made a move towards the door, but lost her footing and stumbled. Luckily, Danthor was close enough to grab both her shoulders and brace her before she fell. Their eyes caught for a brief second before Lethella finally said, "I should go . . . goodnight."

Danthor let go of her as she reached for the door. "Right, right . . . goodnight."

She gave him one last fleeing glance before closing the barrack doors and leaving him to travel back to his own sleeping quarters alone.

— — —

Lord Maxwell Tyrosus was a bigger man than even Dispatch Commander Metz, with short, unkempt brown hair and an eyepatch over his left eye. And as such, the latter of the two was less than pleased when the leader of the Argent Dawn responded angrily when he told him what happened.

"It was a simple order, Metz," he said, getting a bit closer to the dismounted paladin. "You were supposed to go to Corin's Crossing to see if you could find any evidence of Kel'Thuzad's tampering, yet you come back bloodied and missing a man!"

"As I said, things got . . . complicated," Metz replied, averting his gaze. "The Scarlet Crusade interfered and our position was compromised."

"Then how do you explain Antoine going missing?" he asked.

Metz was silent for a second. "We were outmatched. There was confusion as we fled, and he slipped away from my radar completely."

Tyrosus scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. "Just slipped away, huh? Now listen here, just because you were taken off-guard is no excuse to come back down a man! Especially when the cause of your distraction were those idiots of the Cru—"

"I suggest you temper your tongue, Maxwell."

Tyrosus looked behind himself to see Scarlet Commander Marjhan standing there. She had shoulder-length black hair and a youthful face that was belied by the zealous look in her eyes. She, too, was a paladin by trade, and carried a hammer on her back.

"This doesn't concern your kind," Metz started. "If you knew what was good for you, you'd be quiet and—"

"Silence!" Tyrosus said.

Marjhan smiled lightly. "Thank you, Lord Tyrosus. It's good to know one of you isn't foolish enough to go and tempt breaking this treaty between us." She looked directly at Metz.

"It's 'cause of your kind that we're in this position,"Metz said under his breath, yet didn't continue.

Tyrosus was between the two and acted as peacekeeper. "Enough! Marjhan, our treaty is far from broken. We just had a misunderstanding, that's all. However, as a member of the Argent Dawn, I don't like the idea of one of my men going missing while your people were on the scene. I'll ask again if you know anything about the Crusade taking our men captive."

"And I'll respond the same way I always do: No." Marjhan turned back towards the chapel, where her three other representatives were waiting. "Now, if you'd like to come back to matters at hand, we could continue—"

"Lord Tyrosus!" an argent defender cried, running towards the three.

"What is it?"

The defender pointed to the sky in the distance, saying, "One of our scouts just spotted a necropolis nearby in the sky!"

"Naxxramas?"Metzasked immediately.

The defender shook his head. "No, this one's designed differently. Even looking at it from afar can tell us that."

The three of them looked and could indeed see an outline of a flying necropolis in the sky. "It looks like it's passing us by," Tyrosus commented.

Marjhan's usually calm demeanor faded as the color flushed from her face. "You're right, because it's not coming for you. It's coming for Tyr's Hand!"

* * *

><p><em>The Scourge are coming!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	30. Patient Zero

To the injured paladin. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>30: Patient Zero<span>**

He stumbled into his room in the middle of the night, trying in vain to suppress his painful coughing fits.

_By the Light, I'm dying . . ._ Myles Sharn thought feverishly as he closed the door to the room in the barracks he was assigned to.

He hobbled over to his bed, sat, and let out a small groan of pain. Even basic acts like sitting were putting a toll on his weakened body. He coughed several more times into his covered hand, was about to look at it, but shook his head and wiped it on the bedpost instead. Last time he looked at his hand, he saw

_(blood)_

something that he didn't even want to think about. As if to reiterate this point, he shook his head and said softly, "Don't think that way; you'll be fine. You just need to rest up . . ."

But the fresh blood marked on the bedpost spoke a different story.

The crusader in the bed next to him turned over to look at Myles, apparently not to pleased at being woken up at such an ungodly hour. (Unlike Myles, he didn't have the day off.) "The hell's the matter with you, Sharn? You know what time it is?"

He used his arm to cover his mouth as he let out another raucous cough. While coughing, he used his free arm in a dismissive motion, as if saying, _Nothing to see here, folks._ "Sorry, sorry, Mitchell . . . Just go back to sleep."

The crusader named Mitchell wouldn't let it go. Propping himself up, he said, "By the Light, Sharn, you look awful. Your skin's pale, you're sweating like crazy, your eyes are all red, and your breathing doesn't sound normal. You should probably go and get checked out by the—"

"I said I'm fine!" Myles said angrily between coughs (which he didn't cover his mouth for). "I just need to rest, so go back to sleep and don't worry about it!"

Mitchell clearly didn't want to pursue the matter any further. He turned back around and said, "Fine, fine. Night, then."

"Goodnight . . ." Myles wheezed.

After a few minutes, he was sure Mitchell had fallen back asleep. He got up from his bed and stumbled over to the window on the wall near the center of the room—it was the only place where light entered. Leaning against the wall for support, he took a few seconds to catch his breath.

Holding his forearm up to the moonlight, he gingerly undid the makeshift bandages he had applied on himself. The bite wound he got from that ghoul had always been painful, but the paladin thought that it would disappear in time. Not wanting to make a fuss

_("that's my boy, he keeps on truckin' without complaining," his mother used to tell him—or what his mind told him his mother used to tell him)_

over something that was no big deal, he used the Holy Light to stop the bleeding and bandaged up the wound. Content, he went over to the tavern to have a drink and calm his nerves, but the pain only got worse and worse. He hadn't seen the wound since he covered it up, and wondered what it looked like now . . .

Myles stifled a gag as he removed the cloth, exposing his forearm entirely. The smell was overwhelming. To him, it smelled like the countless undead he had spent his entire life fighting. His bloodshot eyes watered, and his first instinct was to close them, but he fought against it (like the countless undead he had killed over his twenty-three years) and looked at the wound.

If he didn't know the exact spot where he was bitten, he never would have found it. The original wound was nearly impossible to find under all the inflamed red skin that had formed around it. That ghoul definitely passed something onto the paladin when he bit into his forearm, but he would be damned if he could know _what_.

His first reaction was one, surprisingly, of relief. He wasn't exhibiting any signs common to the plague of undeath—the most noticeable trait of which was rotting of the skin. Still, he got something from that bite, but Myles had no idea what it was. He channeled the light through his healthy hand and brought it over the wound, allowing its soothing power to enter.

Nothing.

_It's probably just a minor infection,_ he reasoned with himself. _That would explain why the Holy Light isn't doing anything to it. Just an infection that can be treated with conventional medicine . . ._

And what about coughing up blood? Was that common to a minor infection? It didn't seem so; at least not to any kind of infection Myles had ever heard about.

He shook his head, covering his arm again with the bandage. No, this was something much worse than a common infection. The Cult of the Damned was always trying to brew up new plagues to bring upon the land, and it's more than possible that he was the newest victim of one of their new crazed pestilence.

He suddenly felt very tired, but fought the urge to sleep and moved towards the door. His body felt more sluggish than when he entered, which wasn't a good sign at all. Myles had overcome a lot in his life, though—he survived the culling of Stratholme, by the Light!—and he wasn't about to let something like this take him down.

_I'll just head on over to the infirmary . . ._ he thought with a muddied mind as he moved slowly, but surely, towards the barrack door. _They'll treat me, and I'll be just fine. You'll see . . . It's like mom used to say: You shouldn't worry about . . ._

His body gave out, and he collapsed right in the middle of the barracks, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as his body gave a few more weak coughs.

He died a few hours later.

It was during those few crucial unconscious hours (the plague doesn't spread anymore once the victim dies), however, that the paladin Myles Sharn infected everyone in the barrack room.

— — —

Danthor awoke with a throbbing headache.

The sun shone brightly through the single window of the barrack room; a little too brightly for the hung-over knight. As much as his body protested it, his eyes eventually opened. He gave out a groggy moan as he slowly moved his head to the left and to the right. Everyone was gone, like he thought.

Just what happened last night? Danthor remembered a few patches of it. They returned from their failed scouting mission; he couldn't sleep so he went to the tavern; Jonas, Balean, and Myles eventually left; he and Lethella continued drinking on their own; he walked her back to her barracks, and then . . .

_(Danthor was close enough to grab both her shoulders and brace her before she fell. their eyes caught for a brief second before—)_

Oh, what'd it matter, anyway? All he knew for certain was that it was late-morning and he just woke up with the mother of all hangovers. He felt a bit sick, but he knew just lying in his bed wouldn't do, so he eventually willed himself up and got dressed.

He heard a lot of noise coming from the outside. It wasn't uncommon—he was living in a military city, after all—but it was louder than usual for this time. Rubbing his reddened eyes, he decided to not wear the chain coif, common to all Scarlet knights, today. The incessant jangling of the mail would only amplify his headache. Strapping his sword to his side and shield to his back, Danthor opened the door to the world outside.

His first instinct was correct, something was definitely not right.

The first thing he saw was a large influx of crusaders crowding around the barrack room opposite of his own. The group was mostly comprised of paladins and priests, with a few outliers watching. He cautiously approached the outskirts of the crowd, peeking over people's heads. He strained his ears to pick up bits of chatter:

"Can you believe it?"

"Apparently it happened just like that."

"Wonder if it's catching . . ."

Crusader Lord Valdelmar stepped out onto the scene, pushing through the crowd and saying, "I order you all to move! Get out of here; this is none of your business!"

His commanding tone got rid of all the watchers, leaving only the priests and paladins there (although Danthor found no sign of Jonas or Myles). "Crusader lord," the knight said, waving him down as he stood by the door, "what's going on?"

Valdelmar looked surprised at his appearance. He hastily shook his head, saying, "Nothing to worry about. A little situation happened last night, but we've got it well under control. If you just—"

At that moment, two priests walked out of the door carrying a stretcher. On the stretcher was a body that was covered by a thin piece of blanket—all except for his head, that is. Danthor knew who it was immediately.

"Myles!" he said, running towards the stretcher.

Valdelmar was quick enough to intercept him, holding him back. "Take it easy, crusader! Show a little restraint, by all that his holy!"

"What the hell happened?" demanded Danthor, struggling against the crusader lord's strong grip.

"He was found on the floor this morning," Valdelmar explained. "We've spent all morning investigating the scene! We don't know the details yet, but it appears Crusader Sharn died of a disease."

"The plague of undeath?" asked Danthor immediately.

Valdelmar shook his head. "No, if it was, we'd see him as an undead. Whatever he's got, it works fast, but no one else is exhibiting signs of infection, so we think it's just an isolated incident."

"By the Light . . ."

Danthor finally stopped struggling and took a step back. He shook his head, saying, "I saw him last night. He wasn't looking very good, and he excused himself early to go to sleep."

"It's a real waste, that's for sure," Valdelmar said. "Due to this recent event, I think we should put our plans on hold for now, at least until we figure this out."

Danthor nodded absently. How could this be? Myles had been fine until yesterday night—as energetic as usual. When he was at the tavern, though . . . It was like he was a completely different person. He had the stamina of a snail and looked deathly pale. Something must've happened when they got attacked by the Scourge at Corin's Crossing. Must've been exposed to something that—

"Look," Valdelmar said, "I have to go interrogate—I mean talk to—the crusaders who were sleeping in that room last night to see if I can get some answers. My order for your day off still stands, so you should try and get some rest while you can."

"Right," Danthor said. As Valdelmar began walking away, he said, "It must've been when we were fighting the Scourge last night. He was fine before then."

"I know," the crusader lord said, not even bothering to look around. "Don't worry, Crusader Kurock. Like I said, we've got this completely under control."

_Yeah? Well then where were you when the Cult of the Damned was turning Lordaeron into the Plaguelands?_

Danthor closed his eyes and erased the thought. That wasn't fair and he knew it. Everyone was confused, but the answers would come soon, with luck. And with a bit of faith, this whole thing would blow over, and Myles would move onto a better place.

The Scarlet knight looked around. The crowd had dispersed, and everyone was going about their regular business, almost as if there was no problem at all. Still, he hadn't seen Lethella, Jonas, or Balean around. Did they know about this? If they did, he hoped they were okay.

Not really knowing what else to do, Danthor started towards the basilica. If he couldn't find his friends there, he could at the very least have some words with High Abbot Landgren.

That would set his mind at ease, even if just a little.

— — —

Mitchell stifled a tiny cough before looking around skeptically. In this holding cell, he didn't know _who_ was watching. It was best to keep any signs of "impurity" away from the higher-ups, lest they think he's an undead.

Mitchell wasn't sure what was really happening. He was woken up by Myles last night due to his coughing fits (a memory he barely remembered in his half-asleep mind), and next thing he knew, he was dead in the morning. True, Mitchell was the one to report the death, but he didn't expect to be taken away like he was some kind of prisoner.

He felt another cough coming on, but managed to keep it down just as the door opened, revealing Valdelmar. He took a seat across the table and stared at him grimly. "Crusader Stenton, I've been informed that you were the one who found Crusader Sharn's body?"

"Yes, sir."

Valdelmar leaned in closer, close enough to get a good look at Mitchell's reddened eyes. "Then tell me everything you know . . ."

* * *

><p><em>A plague inside the city!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	31. Infection

Even with the death of Myles, the plague spreads . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>31: Infection<span>**

Mitchell Stenton told Crusader Lord Valdelmar everything he knew—that Myles woke him up in the middle of the night, assured him that he was fine, and he went back to sleep. When he woke up early that morning ("I'm always the first up in the room," he explained. "I'm just a natural early riser.") he found Crusader Sharn's body. Acting like a proper crusader, he reported the incident immediately, and now he was sitting in an interrogation room across from Valdelmar.

The crusader lord tried a few interrogation tricks—a harsh tone, body discomfort, mental mind-games, physical violence—but after an hour (and fifteen full minutes after Mitchell finally cracked completely), it was clear he knew nothing more. Unable to keep him imprisoned, Valdelmar let him go back to work.

Mitchell gratefully left the room. Little did he know that he had already doomed Valdelmar to the same fate he would soon suffer, even if it was unwittingly. The suppressed coughs did little to stop the infection from getting to the crusader lord.

Still, he was in adequate health and thought returning to guard duty would help calm his shaky nerves. On his way down to the abbey (where he was assigned), he briefly stopped to talk to two knights, passing his disease onto them. It was the work of but a minute.

He reached the abbey without incident and reported in, infecting three more crusaders as he did so. One of the said crusaders was Craig Leytan, who was just going to the library wing of the abbey (a place Danthor frequently visits) to return a book. He gave the librarian back the book he had checked out (_The Life and Times of Anduin Lothar_, it was called), leaving him more than just an interesting biography on an Alliance war hero. The book in question was already carrying the germs that led to certain death—once you're infected yourself, it's the work of but a second to pass it on.

Craig rented another book, while busily infecting everyone else in the library. Within twenty-four hours, they would all be dead.

Crusader Leytan returned to one of the camps posted near the entrance to Tyr's Hand, sat down, and opened his book. As he turned to the fifth page, he already had a small cough. As he turned to the tenth, he infected seven crusaders who were resting or passed by the camp to talk for a bit.

One of the crusaders who passed by was Monica Morton, and she stopped by the camp to pick up some of the lunch that was being cooked over an open fire. Some of the priests working at the infirmary were hungry, she explained, and she was more than willing to pick up something for them to eat, provided they didn't mind giving up some of their food.

The infected crusaders said they didn't mind, and passed her a small box of food that was crawling with death. Not that it mattered to Monica. She was already infected with her fate sealed. Unaware of her impending death, Crusader Morton walked into the infirmary, where eleven crusaders resided—four holy priests and seven injured soldiers.

Monica gave the packaged food to the hungry priests and left, going on to infect ten more crusaders as she walked back to her guard post. She left them a parting gift, though . . .

The four priests happily ate, even giving some to the wounded soldiers, assuring them they would be better in no time. It was a lie, of course. No one in that room was going to be fine. An hour later, one of the priest's shifts ended. His name was David Grandon, and he went back to his barrack room with a tired body, yet an enlightened mind.

While resting, he infected the other six crusaders who were there.

All of them each went on to infect at least five more Scarlet crusaders.

And the cycle continued . . .

— — —

When Danthor entered the cathedral, it was relatively empty. Two hours after he entered, though, the place was packed.

He got sidetracked a bit actually _getting_ to the cathedral. He was stopped and enlisted into helping bring a shipment of supplies into New Avalon. Danthor didn't mind—the time to just think would do him some good, he thought—and he mindlessly carried boxes towards the town just beyond the cathedral.

That is, until he reached the large doors that were between Tyr's Hand and New Avalon. While usually open all the time, they were now closed with two guards standing in their way.

"Sorry, this way is blocked off," one of them said.

"We have supplies for New Avalon," replied Danthor, thrusting the box he was carrying a bit more out for them to see.

"Sorry," the other guard said. "We're under strict orders not to let anyone through these gates."

"Why?"

"Classified."

Knowing he would get nowhere, Danthor returned the supplies and made his way to the basilica, with only thirty minutes killed.

He spent that hour sitting at a pew and thinking to himself while High Abbot Landgren was busy talking to another crusader (a messenger, by the looks of it). Although Danthor couldn't hear the conversation, he could tell the message was urgent and lengthy. Apparently not straight-forward, either, as Landgren often stopped the messenger to ask questions—the deepening furrow in his brow indicating his rising anger in the subject.

They were still talking when more and more people began entering the building, all trying to talk to Landgren at one time. The abbot, still busy with the messenger, waved them away without a thought. The clearly frightened crusaders joined Danthor, sat, and waited.

About an hour and a half into his wait, Jonas, Lethella, and Balean (joined by Kojak) entered the basilica. Danthor noticed them and stood up immediately, walking over to them. "Danthor!" exclaimed Lethella. "Oh, thank the Light! Are you okay?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You haven't heard?" Balean asked.

"I know, I know," Danthor said softly, "Myles died. That's why I'm here now. I was hoping to get some advice from High Abbot—"

"No, not that," interrupted Jonas. "They've found a second victim, Mitchell Stenton. He was helping to guard the gate when he just collapsed on the spot."

"Another one?" said Danthor in disbelief. "I thought it was 'cause Myles got injured on our scouting run."

Lethella shrugged. "It probably was, but whatever he got is spreading, and fast. Just after Mitchell was reported, three more crusaders died doing various tasks. All of them were assigned to Myles's barrack room."

"By the Light . . ."

"It's my fault," Jonas said. "I could tell he wasn't quite right at the tavern, but I didn't bother to report it."

"Everyone's in a panic," Balean said, as Kojak barked. "They've begun picking up on certain symptoms of those who have it, like bloodshot eyes, pale skin, and coughing. The higher-ups have finally mobilized, telling everyone who's well to get into the basilica."

"How are you guys?" the knight asked. "I mean, are you . . ."

"We're clear." Jonas looked at Balean's companion. "Even Kojak, here. They're screening everyone before they enter the basilica to make sure no one's infected."

Danthor shook his head, the last remnants of his hangover giving him a dull ache as he did it. That was the last thing on his mind now, though. "So what are we supposed to do?"

"We wait here," Lethella said. "That's all we can do."

People were coming in countless troves, now. _The screening process must be pretty efficient to get so many people in at once,_ Danthor thought. This, not surprisingly, didn't make him feel confident in the idea of being completely safe in the basilica.

High Abbot Landgren finally finished his conversation with the scout, and quickly moved to the altar to address the concerned masses. "Crusaders, I understand your fear," he said. "It's only natural to be afraid of an unseen enemy. I know most of us still have painful memories of the plague of undeath sweeping through our homes. But take heart! For we are a pious organization, and the Light is with us!"

"Fuck that!" someone cried out in the ever-growing group of crusaders. "The Light couldn't protect us from the plague, and it can't protect us from this now!"

Landgren pointed to the crowed in a decisive fashion. "Those who doubt its wisdom and strength are the ones who lose in the end. For even if this disease takes us all, we have nothing but eternal bliss waiting for us!"

"We should be getting out of here!" someone yelled. "Not just waiting around to die! How about you actually do something, Landgren?"

There was a roaring approval at this statement, and a hundred more being raised immediately afterwards. So much so that even if Landgren began to talk again (which he didn't), no one would be able to hear him. That is, until . . .

_"ENOUGH OF YOUR FOOLISHNESS!"_

The group of crusaders all turned around to see the owner of that voice. There, entering the doorway was none other than High General Brigitte Abbendis, fully garbed in her war armor, her weapons at the ready. Everyone immediately fell silent.

Abbendis surveyed the surroundings before saying, "Really, is this all it takes to reduce you battle-hardened warriors of the Light into frightened children? We've dealt with this before, and we'll deal with it again!"

Two paladins entered and shut the door, barring it.

The crowd formed a small rift for Abbendis walk through towards the front. "This has taken us by surprise, true enough, but I'll be damned if we're going to let it end us! Now are you all just gonna stand here and complain, or are you going to fight to survive?"

_"SURVIVE!"_ the group cheered, including Danthor.

"Then you'll follow me," Abbendis said, reaching the altar where Landgren stood. "We're abandoning this city and making our way to New Avalon."

"How?" Balean yelled up. "Everyone outside is infected, and I'm not about to and talk to any of them!"

"There's a secret exit in this basilica that leads straight to the gates into New Avalon," Abbendis said. "Everyone who's in this cathedral are the only ones leaving Tyr's Hand alive."

Danthor looked around. Only about three hundred crusaders could be in here. Of the thousand who populated the main area of Tyr's Hand (the rest being spread out deeper into the enclave), less than a third were leaving alive. It was grim, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. No rallying speeches or heroic charges could throw the disease out of the city.

"They'll just follow us there!" a crusader yelled. "We have to leave the Plaguelands for good."

"WE'LL DO NO SUCH THING!" Abbendis yelled fiercely. She then calmed herself a bit. "I've sealed off the only entrance to the rest of the enclave—just in case something like this would happen. Rest assured, no one who was infected got through, and once those gates shut, they shut for good."

The three hundred crusaders were silent.

"If there are no other complaints, then follow me."

For having so many people in one room, they were surprisingly orderly. Everyone calmly followed Abbendis and Landgren down the stairs into an underground level. This level was poorly lit, but there was enough light to see where the crusader in front of you was going.

"These are the Tyr's Hand catacombs," Landgren explained in a voice that echoed throughout the stone corridors. "Our greatest warriors are buried here."

"This whole place is about to become a catacomb," Lethella commented. Due to the lighting, she had her hand on Danthor's shoulder to make sure she wouldn't get lost.

"To think something could spread this quickly," Jonas said out loud. "It's a wonder why the Scourge didn't use this before."

Balean, who had Kojak trotting alongside him, offered his thoughts. "Something this powerful always has drawbacks. There must be a reason it's never been used before."

"Either way, this changes everything," Danthor said. "Everyone will be more on-edge than ever before."

"As opposed to what they were . . ."

"The exits up ahead," Abbendis stated, and sure enough, they could see light at the end of their corridor.

It took a while to get everyone out, but they managed to all emerge at the back of the basilica. The path was right in front of them, and a little beyond that was the gate they would need to pass to get into New Avalon.

The group followed Abbendis's lead down the path. Everyone was habitually looking over their shoulders to see if anyone was following them. They were not. The infected probably still thought they were at the cathedral, slamming on the barred doors and begging for help.

They rounded the bend and saw the gate when Abbendis ordered everyone to stop. She ordered two bowmen to the front and motioned at the two guards Danthor had talked to earlier. With a single motion, the two fired their bolts with perfect precision, killing the two guards without a sound.

"What the hell are you doing?" Danthor demanded.

"Who knows how many infected they'd come in contact with," Abbendis said. "This is for the best."

In no time, they made it to the gate. It was still locked, but Abbendis put her fingers to her mouth and let out a high-pitched whistle. This was followed by a plethora of sounds from the other side of the heavy wooden doors. From their end, it sounded like several crusaders were working to get the doors open.

Unfortunately, that sound attracted unwanted attention.

Already, the crusaders could hear the shambling footsteps and pained moans of the infected coming towards them. "Tell them to hurry the fuck up!" Balean said.

"They're working on it . . ." Abbendis said absently, staring at the door.

A few minutes passed and the first of the doomed crusaders appeared around the corner. "Wait!" the first one cried. "Don't leave us to die here!"

"Stay away, by all that his holy!" Landgren spat. He looked back towards the door and yelled, "Hurry up!"

"Got it!" a voice on the other side said.

The door opened and the crusaders began to gratefully flood through into New Avalon and the rest of the enclave. As their group lessened, the infected group grew, as more and more continued moving towards them. Their sickness had made them slow, and they were all coughing frequently. Danthor even saw a few collapse as they made their trip to the gate. He could only assume the worst.

"Don't go!" the same crusader yelled with a hoarse voice.

Then it struck Danthor. The one speaking was none other than Crusader Lord Valdelmar. The knight barely recognized him. His skin was the lightest he'd ever seen, his hair was sweaty and matted down on his face, and he'd done away with all his weapons and armor. (They were probably too much for his weakened body to carry.) His eyes were bright red, and he was coughing profusely, with blood dribbling down his chin from his mouth.

"Crusader lord!" Danthor found himself yelling. "By the Light, it got you too?"

It took Valdelmar a few seconds to register the voice. It was clear he was almost gone. He looked around and said, "Crusader Kurock . . . Danthor? Is that you?"

The crowd was emptying behind him as the knight responded. "Yes, I'm sorry about what's happened! This is a terrible fate for anyone to have to suffer."

"Danthor, come on, we have to go," Lethella said, tugging on his arm.

"We have to go now," Danthor said. "Just know that you'll be in a better place soon . . ."

"Danthor . . . wait, don't go!" he said hysterically, still moving. He was getting far too close for comfort, now.

"I have to. I'm sorry. Goodbye, Valdelmar."

The hapless crusader lord held his arm out limply. "Wait . . . wait! Please, I just need a little help, then I'll be fine."

"We need to go, now!" The warmage had enough of his stalling and grabbed his hand, forcefully pulling him through the gate. Danthor followed, but always kept his sights on the doomed commander.

Joshua Valdelmar coughed out a good deal of blood and buckled to his knees. Behind him, at least a hundred more crusaders were coming up, all looking for help and salvation. They would find none here.

"Close the gates!" Abbendis commanded.

The wooden doors creaked as they began to shut. Valdelmar was still on his knees, coughing up a fit. When the worst of it subsided, he looked up at the closing doors and saw Danthor one last time. He reached out for him.

"Wait—"

The gate closed for good, shutting off Tyr's Hand from the rest of the Scarlet Enclave.

* * *

><p><em>Tyr's Hand has been abandoned!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	32. Panic, Revelations, and Death

The doors locked for good! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>32: Panic, Revelations, and Death<span>**

The gate separating Tyr's Hand from New Avalon was so large and heavy that it would have to take a siege weapon to blast it open. For the sick and weakened Scarlet crusaders on the other side, there was no chance of it ever opening for them again.

There was silence for a few seconds after the oaken doors were closed and locked. All three hundred surviving crusaders from the plagued city standing there and staring. Over the other side of the gate, they could still hear the cries of the doomed humans.

Danthor shook his head and closed his eyes. He'd lost two people he'd known in that underhanded strike, and he thanked the Light that they were _all_ he lost. He looked over at Balean, Jonas, and Lethella; as if he wasn't sure they had made it through the gate in time. That was ridiculous, of course—it was Lethella who pulled him through when he was too shocked to see the sorry state the once powerful crusader lord had been in. If she wasn't so forceful and he had lingered a little longer, he probably would have been killed on the spot just for good measure.

Can't risk any infected getting through.

Abbendis turned her back on the doors and said, "We'll post archers to constantly watch the gate at a safe distance."

Danthor found himself speaking up before he could even control himself. "Why? So you can murder anyone who comes through in cold blood, like what you did with the two guards?"

Quick as lightning, Abbendis shot around. The group spread apart to clear up the space between the high general and the knight. "Yes, if it comes to that. Would you rather they come in and kill everyone else in the Enclave, including the innocent villagers?"

"There has to be another way." Danthor took a step forward. "We should be working on trying to cure them before they all die!"

Abbendis scoffed at this comment. "They'll all be dead in two days tops. But if you want to go over there, be my guest. Just don't be surprised if we put an arrow through your heart before you can come back here."

"We can't just leave them there!" he said. "It's inhumane!"

Abbendis also took a few steps forward, saying through gritted teeth, "You will learn your place, crusader. When an order is given, your job is not to question it; it's to obey. Now I'm ordering you to stand down, and that's exactly what you'll do!"

Lethella appeared behind Danthor and put her hand on his shoulder, whispering, "Don't escalate this, you'll only make it worse for yourself. Just stand down, and we can—"

The warmage cut herself off with a sneeze.

The air was deathly silent, and a few gasps and murmurs could be heard. Then, the first real voice came from High Abbot Landgren, who pointed at Lethella and said, "She's been infected!"

"No, no," she said, "it was just a sneeze. I didn't cough. I'm not—"

"Get her, quick, before she infects anyone else!" Landgren said.

The frightened crusaders began to move in towards Lethella, who was stepping back towards the gate in fear. That was when Danthor, Jonas, Balean, and Kojak appeared in front of her to shield her.

"Didn't you hear her?" Jonas asked. "It was just a sneeze. She's fine!"

His plea fell on deaf ears, as the crusaders had worked themselves into a hysteria now. "Kill her before she infects the rest of us!" Landgren demanded.

The crusaders drew their weapons.

"SHE SAID SHE'S FINE!" roared Danthor. "SHE HAS NO SIGNS OF INFECTION!"

"It's no use," Balean said. "They're not gonna listen . . ."

The first crusaders were on them now, all reaching out to grab Lethella and pull her into the crowd, where they would kill her in an instant. Danthor was the first to react, punching the nearest crusader in the face and knocking him to the ground. That was the final tipping point, with the crusaders roaring and all rushing in at once.

They were overwhelmed immediately and brought to the floor, blows raining down on all of them from all directions. For a moment, they all knew that it was over. This was how they'd die—being beaten to death by their own comrades because of fear. That was, until they heard Abbendis roar, _"ENOUGH!"_

The blows let up, and stopped altogether. Danthor groaned as he rolled over onto his back, blood trickling down the side of his head, along with a black eye. His friends didn't look much better. They were certainly in no state to fight back.

"Bring them to me!" she commanded. Landgren looked at her skeptically and opened his mouth, but she stopped him by saying, "That's an order!"

A few crusaders dragged their four limp bodies over to Abbendis and Landgren, throwing them in front of their leaders. Balean got on all fours and coughed up blood in pain. Landgren saw this and reacted immediately.

"See?" he said, pointing to the huntsman. "She's already started infecting everybody else!"

"I'm bleeding 'cause you ordered them to beat me up, smartass," Balean said weakly. Kojak was sitting at his side willingly enough. He was injured slightly, but not enough so that he couldn't move.

"Why you insolent little—"

"Enough!" Abbendis said. "It's clear these four are not infected. Are you all so thickheaded that you can't tell the difference between a cough and a sneeze?"

Danthor was incredulous. He looked up at the high general and asked, "Then why the hell didn't you stop them?"

A small smirk grew on Abbendis's face. "To teach you respect, obviously, and to show you what happens when you disobey orders and challenge me."

Backed into a corner, Danthor relied on his usual tricks. He smiled and asked, "Kind've like when tortured us before we joined the Crusade?"

Abbendis's smile was replaced with a complacent look. Silently, she strode toward Danthor. Then, without warning, she kicked him under the chin with her armored boot; slicing it open, sending blood out of his mouth, and bringing him onto his back in pain. Stars exploded in his eyes as he looked up at the afternoon sky, groaning.

"How dare you?" Lethella exclaimed, beginning to stand up.

"Restrain her!" Landgren commanded, and at once she was forced back to the ground. It appeared the abbot was still skeptical about her health.

Abbendis kept her indifferent look as she knelt down besides Danthor, saying in a whisper, "Remember when I told you never to speak of your confinement? Now you'll see what happens when you break a cardinal rule of the Crusade."

Danthor said nothing, only showing signs of consciousness by blinking. "High general, look!" a crusader yelled, pointing to the sky on their left.

Abbendis stood up and looked in his direction. Her eyes widened at what she saw. Landgren saw it too, and uttered, "By the Light . . ."

"Rather unfortunate timing, eh?" Jonas asked with a bloodied grin.

Thinking fast, Abbendis grabbed Danthor by his shoulder and jerked him up. He stifled a cry of pain while in her presence. He didn't want to give her anything to work with. "I should flay you where you stand, whelp," she said. "But I'm not going to. You know why?"

"Because I'm your moral compass . . . ?" he asked distantly.

Abbendis forcefully turned him into the direction the crusader pointed and made sure he got a good look at what was in the west of the enclave. "That's why, and the Light and I still need you and your story to inspire the crusaders, as well as your leadership. So what do you say we forget about this and move on?"

"Fine by me . . ."

"Good." Abbendis threw Danthor into Landgren, who caught him before he fell flat on his face. "Take him and the other three and get them to the infirmary, and I want the guard doubled near Havenshire." She looked at the rest of the three hundred crusaders. "As for the rest of you, get into the command center and await further orders!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

High Abbot Landgren and the crusaders all began to move into New Avalon. High General Abbendis stayed where she stood, though, and sighed heavily. She once again turned to the west to get one last glimpse, just to make sure she wasn't imagining it.

There, in the northwestern edge of the enclave, hovering over the mountains was the floating necropolis of death known as Acherus.

— — —

"I don't understand . . ."

Upon seeing Acherus floating over Light's Hope Chapel, Scarlet Commander Marjhan reacted swiftly and decisively. Gathering her three remaining Crusade emissaries—Rohan the Assassin, Mataus the Wrathcaster, and Huntsman Leopold—packed their supplies, thanked the Argent Dawn for having them (they were more than happy to see the crusaders leave), and left for Tyr's Hand at dawn.

It took them a day and a half to make it to the Scarlet Crusade's capital, and all they found was ruin. The city was untouched, but the gates were wide open and littered with bodies. The smell of death was unbearable. The four crusaders moved slowly into the fortress of death.

Mataus the Wrathcaster was a powerful warlock, which was why he (and his two companions, for that matter) was chosen by Grand Crusader Dathrohan to accompany the Scarlet commander into enemy territory in the first place. He had pale skin and dressed in gray robes, with a very ornate headpiece that covered his mouth in a black cloth and matching spiked shoulderpads. He was just as nice as he looked, which was not very. Still, even he found himself taken aback at this.

"What happened?" he asked no one in particular.

Rohan the Assassin kneeled down and inspected one of the corpses. Being a rogue by trade, he was all-too-familiar with all different forms of death. For an assassin, he dressed very flash in a purple, open-vested shirt that revealed his chest, with a matching wide-brimmed hat. His attitude now belied his somewhat goofy (and dated) attire, though.

"No physical wounds," he said. "They've definitely died of some kind of disease."

"The plague of undeath is here?" asked Huntsman Leopold. He was actually the brother of Houndmaster Loksey, and as such, had similar facial features (and even the receding hairline) as his brother. Still, he dressed every inch the hunter with his brown-colored mail armor and epaulets with two dangerous spikes protruding from them. "It can't be, or they'd be undead by now."

"Whatever it is, it sure works fast," Marjhan said.

"True, which makes it very convenient for me."

Everyone spun around to see the owner of the foreign voice. What they saw was not what they expected. Standing over them was a nathrezim, or dreadlord in the Common tongue. He actually looked near identical to Varimathras, the general of Sylvanas Windrunner, but that was to be expected. They're brothers, after all, although their relationship is a bit complicated.

_(though that's a story for another day)_

His purple skin, glowing yellow eyes, cloven hooves, bat-like wings, red-tinged otherworldly armor, and demon horns protruding from his forehead were certainly a sight to behold, but not to the four mortals standing before him. "Who are you?" demanded Marjhan. "Tell us, now!"

"Ah," the dreadlord said. "How rude of me to forget. I am Balnazzar, but you probably know me better as Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan."

"Don't lie, demon!" said Mataus. "We've all seen the grand crusader, and know that he's as human as us!"

"Yes, one of the benefits of killing him and possessing his body, I suppose," Balnazzar mused. "It allowed me to blend in so well with you mortals."

Leopold drew his crossbow and aimed it at the dreadlord. "Our most recent reports tell us we lost the Scarlet Bastion in Stratholme completely, where the grand crusader resided. Are you telling me that was because of you?"

"No," he said. "Sylvanas got a bit ambitious—not a surprise to me, personally—and sent a strike force to take over Stratholme. The crusaders I was leading all died, and I was even forced out of Dathrohan's body to fight. And they thought they killed me! But you can never kill a dreadlord, so I returned to enact a new plan. One that doesn't involve using living humans to do my bidding."

"Enough talk!" Rohan said, grabbing his daggers and valiantly charging the dreadlord. "Be purged by the Light, foul scum!"

Balnazzar didn't even bat an eye. Faster than their human eyes could see, he swiped his heavy clawed hand at Rohan's head, taking his jaw clean off and sending him sprawling to the floor in the distance, killed instantly. "You monster!" Mataus cursed, beginning to conjure a shadowbolt. "Prepare to see why they call me the Wrathcaster."

Balnazzar held his hand up, and Mataus was immediately seized by dark magic wrapping around his throat. He reached for his neck in vain, gagging. "Who do you think invented the dark arts, fool?" Balnazzar taunted. "Come back and challenge me in a thousand years."

Moving his claw, Mataus's head jerked violently, making a snapping sound. He dropped to the floor soundlessly. Huntsman Leopold, who had just recently heard news of his brother's death by the hands of the Forsaken, snapped at the sight of seeing two of his comrades dying right in front of him. Letting out an animal-like roar, he raised his crossbow and took aim for Balnazzar's head.

Just before the bolt struck, the dreadlord caught it in midair, snapping it like a twig. Balnazzar scoffed and summoned up a dark ball of magic, throwing it at the huntsman at lightning speed. It went straight through Leopold's chest in an instant. He only managed to give Marjhan one disbelieving look before falling.

"What do you want?" she demanded, raising her paladin hammer towards the demon. She must have known it was no use, as her hands were shaking.

Balnazzar took a few steps towards the commander, saying, "You fools spend your entire life fighting the Scourge, yet you're quick to forget that it was because of my people and the Burning Legion that the Lich King even exists! We've mastered necromantic powers long before the first agent of the Scourge appeared on Azeroth!"

As if to prove this, he raised his hand upwards in the direction of a dead crusader (killed by the plague), dark magic encircling his corpse. Then, just as if he was empowered by a Scourge necromancer, the crusader rose, his skin rotting and looking just like any member of the Scourge or Forsaken, yet serving this dreadlord instead.

"This is what I want," he said. "I'll need to rebuild my forces if I'm ever to do anything useful, and I've decided that manipulating you humans is far too much trouble. Best to shed my disguise of the grand crusader and have you all serve me in death."

Scarlet Commander Marjhan didn't stand a chance . . .

When she was dead, Balnazzar began using his powers to raise every dead crusader at Tyr's Hand into the undead to serve his dark and twisted will. He smiled gleefully as he was doing so.

"Fear not," he said to the corpse of Marjhan, as if she could still hear him. "For you will still serve a purpose as one of the Risen, and as an extension, serve a purpose to the dark lord Sargeras . . ."

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><p><em>Tyr's Hand has been turned into a bastion for the Risen!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	33. Foothold

At the Scourge stronghold . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>33: Foothold<span>**

He had arrived on the back of a giant undead frost wyrm.

Acherus, the Ebon Hold, had just arrived over the Scarlet Enclave when the Lich King flew in. Darion Mograine, highlord of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, was there waiting for him (along with a number of other high-ranking commanders such as Instructor Razuvious, Baron Rivendare, and Noth the Plaguebringer) as he flew in through an opening that overlooked the Enclave and dismissed the dragon made of bones. Darion may have looked every inch an undead conqueror, but compared to the Lich King, he looked like a simple mindless undead.

He was dressed in the strongest of saronite armor, sleek and silver and _strong_. His boots, gauntlets, and epaulets were all adorned with the protrusion of a skull. He had a long and tattered black cloak that flowed down to his boots. Strapped to his left hip was his runeblade, Frostmourne, a silver blade that glowed blue with enchantments, its hilt fashioned after a demon's (maybe a dreadlord's) skull. His wispy gray hair hung freely from his helmet that doubled as a crown, as the five regal spires extending from it indicated. The helmet—known as the Helm of Dominion—shadowed his face and obscured his features, but not enough to hide those bright-blue, glowing eyes common with almost every death knight.

"Highlord Mograine." He spoke in a deep, penetrating voice that shadowed both Arthas's voice, the tragic prince of Lordaeron turned death knight, with Ner'zhul's, the original Lich King.

Darion immediately found himself kneeling in front of his king. "We are honored by your presence, my king."

"Rise, Mograine, and report."

The highlord did as he was commanded, standing to meet his master. Darion was tall by human standards, but even he found himself looking up at the Lich King. "The Ebon Hold is poised to take the Scarlet Enclave. I've already sent Valanar, Gothik, and Salanar down with a battalion of Scourge to take the land directly underneath us. When I receive word of their victory, we can begin our assault on Havenshire."

"It won't take long for the humans to fall," the Lich King stated. "Tell me, what news is there of the new plague we've been devising?"

"Oh, that . . ." The usually calm, cool, and collected Darion found himself at a loss for words. He looked over at the plaguebringer and said, "Perhaps it would be best if Noth explains it to you."

The Lich King set his gaze on Noth, who found himself trembling in fear. Still, he managed to speak, barely. "Wuh-well, I managed to devise a prototype that c-could be spread by getting attacked by a ghoul. Initial ruh-ruh-reports showed the plague to be an absolute success, spreading by mere casual contact. In a day and a half, the city of Tyr's Hand was wiped out."

"And?" His voice was calm, expectant. Almost as if he knew what was coming next.

Noth gulped visibly. "Unfortunately, it's potent effects didn't just work on humans. We've discovered that once the plague completely circulates throughout an undead's system—which takes no more than three hours—it's able to spread the disease just as quickly to other undead."

"We lost the entire town of Corin's Crossing because of it," Darion quickly interjected. "Along with a few other key points in the Plaguelands. The undead were replaced rather quickly, but it's clear the new plague is far too unstable to use. We're just lucky we didn't lose anyone important, because we're _all_ susceptible to it."

The Lich King didn't seem surprised at this information. He surveyed the commanders at Acherus, and the numerous death knights standing behind them, all at attention to greet their king. "It's no matter. It's done enough by taking care of Tyr's Hand for us. Though we hardly need a new plague to take care of these scurrying red fools."

"Instructor Razuvious has been hard at work training our new death knights," Highlord Mograine said. "Once Prince Valanar takes the breach, we can let them loose upon the Crusade."

The Lich King fingered the hilt of Frostmourne, saying, "You know my personal thoughts on warfare, highlord?"

"No, my lord," Mograine said. He was some what put off by this statement. Seldom does the Lich King speak about himself personally.

"I never liked using the plague to kill my victims," he said. "It was necessary to build up my forces in the beginning, but it always felt so _impersonal_. No, the best way to destroy your enemy is to show them how hopeless everything is by overwhelming them with superior power."

He drew his runeblade, pointing it towards all the death knights standing at attention.

"And Frostmourne is always hungering for souls!"

His blade glowed an even brighter blue, enough to set the stoic death knights into bloodthirsty cheers, drawing their own runeblades—also glowing blue in the presence of the Lich King's power.

"Who do you serve?" he asked in a booming voice.

_"THE LICH KING!"_

"Do we give mercy to our enemies?"

_"NO!"_

"What is your purpose?"

_"TO BRING FORTH THE APOCALYPSE!"_

Raising his free hand out, he summoned a portal in front of all the death knights. Through the portal they could see Prince Valanar, Gothik the Harvester, and Salanar the Horseman fighting against the Scarlet crusaders with the Scourge at their back. The winner of the fight was clear, but that didn't mean the process couldn't be sped up a bit.

"Then go and serve your master! Bring forth the end of all life!"

The death knights gave a rallying cheer and immediately began rushing through the portal, thirsty to draw living blood as a dark testament to their master. When the last of them were gone, the portal disappeared and the Lich King sheathed his blade. He turned back to Darion.

"The best training we can give them is by having them go out and kill in my name," he said. He looked directly at the instructor. "Isn't that right, Razuvious?"

"Of course, my lord!" Razuvious said, giving him a salute.

The Lich King turned his back on his commanders and moved towards the overlook he flew in on. Beneath him, he could see some of the fighting going on at what would soon be called Death's Breach. There would be no mercy, there would be no survivors.

"I look forward to overseeing your work personally, Highlord Mograine," the Lich King said. "Show me why I've appointed you as leader of the Knights of the Ebon Blade."

Darion felt the corrupted Ashbringer strapped to his back give off a small, uneasy vibe. He didn't like the feeling. Still, he said, "Yes, my lord . . ."

— — —

The land the Scourge have aptly named Death's Breach originally had no name. It was simply a rocky plateau in the northwest of the Enclave that overlooked the small farming town ofHavenshire (with New Avalon just being south of that). Its only purpose was to serve as a base for the Scarlet crusaders occupying and protecting Havenshire, which in itself only amounted to a clustering of tents. The new name was rather fitting, however, as the undead were fighting against the crusaders tooth and nail to claim it as their own.

Captain Romvoy was in charge of the base overlooking Havenshire—an aging, grizzled veteran of the Crusade, with a completely bald head and a gray beard. So he was naturally the first to respond to the not-totally-unexpected threat.

Surprisingly enough, it didn't start off violent. Rather, it was somewhat diplomatic. Romvoy would have had to been blind to miss the floating necropolis appearing right over his base, and he naturally bulked up his defenses and sent for reinforcements from New Avalon, expecting an immediate full-frontal assault.

What he _didn't_ expect was for three Scourge commanders to come flying down to the base on undead gryphons alone and unarmed.

They were lead by an undead high elf with ashy skin and long blue hair parted down the middle. He wore blue-colored robes with a high collar protruding from behind his head. His mouth and nose were covered in plate armor that was designed to look like fangs. Despite his vampiric appearance, he was rather cordial when speaking, even bowing in front of Romvoy.

"Greetings, I am Prince Valanar, emissary of the Lich King. With me is Gothik the Harvester and Salanar the Horseman." He raised his hands up in a disarming motion. "As you can see, we come in peace, with hopes to negotiate terms like gentlemen."

An average-sized human covered in head-to-toe in light-brown and gray armor, including a headpiece composed of red cloth that covered him to his eyes and two horns protruding from the side, scoffed. He was the one named Salanar.

The unexpected appeal threw the Scarlet captain slightly off-guard. "We don't waste our time talking to undead filth, so why don't you just tell us what you want and get outta here!"

"How crass and unrefined you humans are," Valanar stated tastelessly. "Yet blunt and to the point, so I won't waste your time any longer. What we want is the entirety of what you call the Scarlet Enclave—we call it the last of Lordaeron to be untouched. We won't accept any surrender and we will take no prisoners, but you can feel free to flee while we take your lands. We won't waste our time chasing and killing bugs."

Romvoy motioned for the two guards at his side, who immediately had their hands on their weapons. Romvoy reached for his own claymore strapped to his back. "Know this, scum! We of the Scarlet Crusade don't fear you, nor would we flee the last bastion of hope for the Plaguelands. Too bad you won't be able to tell the Lich King that yourself. Get them!"

The three crusaders drew their weapons, and Valanar drew a heavy sigh. He arched his arm back and thrust it towards the oncoming crusaders, summoning a powerful cone of wind that blew the three humans a few feet back.

"I'll take that as a no, then." Valanar ran a hand through his hair and turned to Gothik and Salanar. "Alright, raze this place to the ground."

Captain Romvoy was on his feet immediately, pointing at the three to all the crusaders watching and yelling, "Kill them! There's only three of them!"

"Three?" chuckled Valanar. "Evidently you've never heard of Gothik, the grand necromancer of the Lich King. Show them."

The tall human with blue- and black-colored robes, a gray beard that extended to his waist, a horned animal (or demon) skull perched on his head, and glaring blue eyes nodded and raised his right hand up to the sky, channeling dark magic. Magic gathered into Gothik's hand and began shooting itself out into the ground in multiple streams, almost like lightning. In the area the magic struck, an undead ghoul or geist or abomination rose from the ground. This all happened so quickly that in the blink of an eye, there were at least twenty Scourge at the three commander's backs.

"Don't be discouraged!" urged Romvoy as the crusaders charged fearlessly to battle the undead. "Believe in the Light, and we'll prevail!"

"The Light," scoffed Salanar. "The only truth lies in the shadows. You just have to know where to look!"

The yellow eyes behind his bucket-shaped helmet flared up, and from seemingly out of thin air five horsemen—all looking like Salanar himself and armed with axes, polearms, and swords—appeared in front of the first wave of charging crusaders, easily mowing down the fastest runners with their horses and weapons.

"What?" a few of them shouted.

Salanar laughed as his own red-armored horse, named Fury, appeared from out of nowhere next to him with a whinny, the horseman's personal axe hanging on the saddle. He mounted up and grabbed his weapon, saying, "From out of the Realm of Shadows come the Dark Riders of Acherus! There is no hope for those who worship light over dark!"

The full-on assault Captain Romvoy anticipated had arrived, yet it was when he least expected it. Still, he commanded his troops well and rushed into the fray with his claymore swinging, yelling, "Take out the leaders!"

Prince Valanar summoned a ball of burning yellow light between his hands and sent it drifting off towards a group of crusaders coming from their tents. When it was right in the middle of the confused humans, it exploded, incinerating all of them (and their tent) in an instant. The prince cackled wildly as he summoned a shadowbolt and threw it at the nearest crusader's head.

"Fools!" he cried. "The Lich King conquers all he sees!"

Despite their obvious disadvantage, the crusaders were holding out, killing a large amount of undead and never losing heart, no matter how many of their comrades fell. Still, it was clear who would win this battle. Yet even as an injured Captain Romvoy was knocked back and out of the fray by an abomination, he didn't give up, especially when he saw the scout he sent to New Avalon right behind him, clearly frozen in shock at this turn of events.

Romvoy rose quickly, grabbing him by his shoulders. "What message do you deliver?"

This snapped the messenger out of it, as he said, "Uhh . . . Commander Rodrick says he has direct orders from the high general herself for us to retreat and fortify Havenshire. They'll be sending a battalion of crusaders shortly."

"My men are locked in combat and dying," Romvoy said. "It's not as if we could just pull back and run."

"Commander Rodrick said that officers are the only ones that need to survive—also orders from the high general."

This news disheartened Romvoy, who had hoped for knights on horseback to come charging in and turn the tide of battle. Orders were orders, though, and the captain nodded his head solemnly. Not many would leave, but he could at least save a few of his men if he acted quickly. He yelled, "Fall back! Regroup back at—"

As he yelled this, he began to turn around back towards the battle. He couldn't say the word "Havenshire" because he was too busy looking at a portal appearing on the frontlines of battle as the Scourge began to back away from it and the crusaders, creating a lull in the fighting for a second.

That momentary peace was shattered instantly with the bloodcurdling cries that came from the other side of the portal, followed by a swarm of fully armored and armed death knights of all races rushing through the portal with their runeblades drawn, relentlessly cutting down the remaining crusaders in their sight.

Romvoy could only stare as his surprised men got cut down mercilessly by the Lich King's finest fighting force. The messenger saw this too, but didn't want to stick around. He shook Romvoy's shoulder and said, "Captain, we have to go now!"

Nodding listlessly, Romvoy caught one last glimpse as his base that he'd likely never see again. He'd have to set up a new one in Havenshire to plan for their counterattack. Finally, he wrenched himself away from the sight of the slaughter and turned around.

Only the scout and Romvoy survived the attack.

And the Scourge had gotten a foothold in the Enclave, naming their staging ground Death's Breach.

* * *

><p><em>They're inside the Scarlet Enclave!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	34. The Four Captains

Back to New Avalon. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>34: The Four Captains<span>**

A black eye, a swollen lip, and ten stitches in his chin.

Danthor got off with the worst injuries of his three friends, but even that wasn't saying much (as the only reminder of his injuries will come in the form of a white scar on his chin), as he was released from the infirmary in the Scarlet Hold—the military base of operations in New Avalon. Lethella, Jonas, Balean, and Kojak were waiting for him when he was discharged from the infirmary.

"Lookin' a little worse for wear, there," commented Jonas.

Danthor waved the jibe off. "A small price to pay to see the look on the high general's face."

"Ain't that the truth," Balean added (and Kojak barking in excitement).

Danthor looked past his friends further into New Avalon. The town square was a bustle with crusaders running back and forth through the stone wall that separated Havenshire (primarily a farming town) from New Avalon (primarily a commercial town). What they were towing was rations, water, weapons, horses—all things used when preparing for war.

"What's been happening?" the knight asked.

"The Scourge have a base below Acherus," Lethella explained. "They're constantly attacking Havenshire, but we've been reinforcing it continuously, so we're at a standstill for now."

"Not that it'll last long," muttered Balean.

Danthor took in a heavy breath of fresh air. "Great. So what's our job in all this?"

"You won't believe it," Lethella said, holding up a piece of parchment with a broken seal. "While you were getting patched up, we were called in by Scarlet Commander Rodrick himself."

"The nice-dressin' paladin who likes to fancy himself the military leader of New Avalon," Jonas interjected.

Danthor nodded. He'd heard of Rodrick. He didn't care about that now. What he did care about was the contents of the paper.

"It says we're to report to one Captain Nicolas Romvoy and help him protect Havenshire from the Scourge . . . as an equal." Lethella flashed Danthor a joyful smile. "Congratulations, Captain Kurock."

Danthor blinked. "You mean . . . we're all?"

The three of them nodded. "Guess we're thrown into that leadership role a bit earlier than expected," Balean said. "Valdelmar would be proud, Light bless his soul."

"Alright, then let's get moving."

Danthor began walking towards the gate at the stone wall before Jonas asked, "What are you doing?"

The knight stopped and looked at them quizzically. "I'm going to Havenshire. What's it look like?"

Balean chuckled. "Please, as if officers such as ourselves need to _walk_ to our destinations to lead."

"I don't follow."

Lethella suddenly appeared, walking with four horses. Kojak's tail wagged at the sight. "We're riding there in style."

Looking at the beautiful, chestnut-colored beasts, Danthor smiled. "I can live with that . . ."

— — —

"So you're the newly-promoted captains?"

A hand-rolled cigarette hung loosely from Captain Romvoy's mouth as he put a piece of paper he'd been studying down on the table. The Crusade's presence in Havenshire had always practiced the method of being as "non-intrusive" as possible. After all, their main military presence was in New Avalon, and a large base was hardly needed in a small farming town like Havenshire.

As such, when their only base in the town was destroyed on the attack at Death's Breach, Romvoy had to relocate his base into the town itself. It consisted of a few tables, chairs, and tents. It was surrounded by a cloister of villager's houses, forming a protective circle around them. The gaps were filled in by stacked crates for protection, with armed crusaders keeping constant vigilance.

"Yes, sir," Lethella said. "I'm Captain Borman, these are Captains Merrigan, Orthel, and Kurock. We're honored to be working with you."

Danthor was released from the hospital in the morning, and by the time the four arrived on horseback, it was near noon. Romvoy took a puff on his cigarette, saying, "Listen, Borman, I saw my entire goddamned battalion slaughtered by the Lich King's forces last night, in which a messenger and I were the only survivors. So excuse me if I don't seem to thrilled to have a few kids comin' in and trying to tell me what they think should be done, especially when they start off with saying it's an _honor_ to work with me."

Lethella was taken slightly aback. "Well _excuse_ me if I—"

"We're here to help," intercepted Danthor, stepping forward. "To work together and beat our enemies, not fight amongst ourselves. Apologies for the formal manner. May we just call you Romvoy?"

"Captain will be fine."

Danthor nodded. "Alright, captain it is. Can you bring us up to speed on the situation?"

Romvoy let out a small grunt of laughter. "I like ya, kid. Miss Borman could learn a lot from you."

Lethella, still fuming, spat on the ground in response. "Easy," Balean said to her quietly. "Let's not go killing our superiors."

"Alright, listen up," Romvoy said. "The Scourge took the plateau under Acherus last night—callin' it Death's Breach—and they already have a functioning and populated base. They've been sending geists, ghouls, and death knights to attack the town all morning. I've set up guards to cut them off at the path leadin' into Havenshire. It's working so far, but not for long."

He paused to exhale smoke from his lungs.

"Unfortunately, they got the advantage of higher ground," he continued. "They've been havin' archers pick off soldiers and citizens alike all morning. I've told the citizens to evacuate to New Avalon, but some of 'em are pretty slow-moving. Directly to the east of the Breach are the Havenshire mines. I've got orders to have the miners strip it for all its worth and deliver the supplies to the Scarlet fleet at Light's Point on the beach east of us. So the mines are getting extra protection."

"Wait, we have an entire fleet?" asked Balean.

Romvoy nodded. "Yes, Mr. Orthel, we do. And well over a hundred-fifty Scarlet defenders and fifty cannons protecting it from attack. No undead could infiltrate that beach, no matter how hard they tried."

"Then why aren't we using the defenders, cannons, and ships to help with a counterattack?" asked Jonas.

"Orders from the top," answered Romvoy. "Abbendis thinks the mine's resources are more important, so we're loadin' the boats up with 'em and shippin' them off to New Avalon for extra supplies."

"What?" asked an incredulous Danthor. "With those kinds of numbers, we could mount a counterattack easily, especially since they've just established their position and haven't had a chance to fortify! We should take this opportunity while we can."

Romvoy took a final drag on his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stomping on it. "You think I haven't thought of that? I'd like nothing more than to pay those bastards back in spades, but orders are orders, and the resources come first. Once those ships set sail down the coast, though, you bet your ass I'll be using those men and cannons for an attack. We've just got to hold on until then."

"So the plan's to hold the town until then?" Lethella asked.

Romvoy shrugged. "Pretty much. We don't nearly have enough forces for an assault on Death's Breach. Besides, they'd just get more reinforcements from Acherus in an instant. We're fighting a war of attrition, and right now it's lookin' like we're in it for the long haul."

Jonas was about to speak before he heard a pained grunt behind him. The five captains looked and saw a crusader who was guarding the barrier of the town on the floor with an arrow sticking out of his chest. He was breathing shallowly as he looked up at the sky. After a few more seconds of this, his body gave out, and he loosed one final breath. Silently, Balean moved towards the body.

Kojak began sniffing the crusader, as if to confirm that he was dead, as the huntsman pulled the arrow out of his chest. The blood on it was still fresh. Inspecting it, he asked Romvoy, "You say the archers keep shooting into the town?"

The grizzled captain nodded. "Those skeletal bastards have been doing it nonstop! They never need rest or food or drink. They're the perfect killing machines."

"Yeah, and with these kinds of arrows it's no wonder." Balean placed the bloodied shaft onto the table.

Danthor inspected it, tilting his head. "What's different about it?"

Balean tapped the tip. "I've never seen this kind of metal before, but it's stronger than anything I've ever seen before. No chance of this thing breaking against shields. More likely it'll go straight through 'em. In all my years of using arrows, I can tell you that those archers are shooting from the longest range I've seen and still retaining such killing power. You just saw the evidence yourself."

The dead crusader was being dragged away by field-medics and was immediately replaced. Romvoy grabbed the arrow.

"I've seen this kind of armor on some of the Scourge officers," Romvoy said. "It's rare alright, 'cause their common death knights don't even use it."

Balean plucked the arrow from Romvoy's hand and loaded it into his own crossbow. Walking toward where the hapless crusader was shot, he pushed the new guard aside. "I have an idea . . ."

He aimed towards the edge of Death's Breach, where even now the skeletal archers known to the Scourge as the Sky Darkeners continued loosing arrows into fleeing citizens and soldiers alike. Taking a deep breath, he fired the arrow. In the distance, a skeleton went prone and fell onto his back, the arrow he was about to release clattering harmlessly from his bow.

Kojak barked as Balean moved back towards the four. "Wouldn't mind having a quiver of those. It's difficult killing skeletons—you've gotta shoot 'em in the head—but that arrow's incredibly accurate."

"We could make use of this," Jonas said. "The grounds of Havenshire are littered with those arrows."

"And who's gonna be the one to walk into an open field right in front of skilled archers to pick them up?" Romvoy asked. "Crusaders may be willing to die for a lot of things, but none of them are _that_ suicidal."

"We'll do it." Balean motioned towards Kojak, who was panting happily, his face almost forming a smile. "Give me some of your best archers, and we'll take care of them."

"And I'll go check on the mines," Lethella said. "If we're hemming all our bets on getting those resources to the ships as soon as possible, we might as well give them some more protection and get the job done a little faster. Unlike Balean here, I don't need anyone to help me with this task."

"Well naturally," Balean shot back. "Mine requires much more skill."

The two glared daggers at each other, a sort of friendly rivalry brewing between the two of them.

Jonas stepped between the two. "Ladies, ladies, please, there's no need to get into a fight over who's mission is most dangerous. Lethella had it right when she said we need more protection. So Danthor and I should lead the fighting on the frontlines and push the Scourge back a bit. It won't do much, but it should buy us some time." He winked at the two of them. "Besides, we don't need any crusaders either, and our mission will be the most dangerous."

"You cocky sonuva—" stared Balean.

"Sounds like a plan," Danthor added, cutting the huntsman off. "We might not be able to pull off a major assault, but we can always do something to help the war effort and soften 'em up."

Captain Romvoy looked at the four new captains. Without warning, he burst out laughing, tilting his head back as he did it. It took him a few seconds to settle down, but when he did, he rubbed his eyes and said, "I think I might've gotten the wrong first impression of you kids."

"What do you mean?" asked Lethella, a bit of a harsh tone in her voice.

Romvoy chuckled and said, "It's nothing. It's just that when I was told I'd be gettin' four newly-promoted captains here, I expected 'em to be wet-behind-the-ears and shitting their pants at the sight of the Scourge on the frontline. But you've all got the kind of crazy, zealous courage needed to lead in the Crusade. If you all come back here alive and successful, I'll personally salute you."

"Sounds like a challenge," Jonas said. "We accept."

Romvoy lit himself another cigarette. "Alright, I'll be waitin' right here, then. We always need someone holding down the fort. I'll get you all what you need, so don't dawdle and waste our precious time and resources!"

He pointed towards Death's Breach and the rest of Havenshire in front of them. The town currently covered in saronite (although they didn't know that was the name of the precious metal) arrows, with miners hastily stripping away the mine and fighting between crusaders and Scourge peppering the rest of it.

"Get goin' then! And good luck—you're gonna need it!"

* * *

><p><em>Time to strike back against the Scourge!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	35. Kojak and Balean the Huntsman

Putting their plan into action! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>35: Kojak and Balean the Huntsman<span>**

For a relatively small town, Havenshire sure did have a lot of citizens still fleeing from it.

One would think their first instinct would be to flee when they caught sight of Acherus: The Ebon Hold looming over their simple farming town, but they were either incredibly stubborn, unwilling to abandon the town they've lived their entire life in, or were hopelessly stupid.

Balean put his money on hopelessly stupid.

Even now, as he and his ten archers ("The best we got, which ain't sayin' too much," Romvoy said as he presented them) moved cautiously throughout the town, collecting arrows and watching out for the archers, there were still citizens fleeing for their lives. More than a few of them got shot down.

One woman in particular was running up the path towards New Avalon with the rest of her family, but she was the unlucky one, as an arrow zipped through the sky and struck her in her shoulder. She dropped to the ground and writhed around, screaming out in pain. The woman's husband sent the kids on their way as he rushed back to save his wife, trying desperately to pick her up.

Her body went into shock, and she nearly began convulsing as if the arrow had been poisoned (which Balean knew for a fact that it wasn't). Finally, with Kojak following him, he pushed the husband aside, saying, "Move. You're only making it worse."

The arrow struck the woman in her back, so she was squirming around on her stomach, wailing to no end. Balean sighed and forcefully held her down with one hand and using the free hand to grip the shaft of the arrow.

"Just give me one second of stillness, and the pain will be over," he said.

He didn't wait for a response. The woman wouldn't be still, so he forcefully ripped the arrow out of her. Her moving only made the exit wound worse, but that was her fault, not his. When there were dozens dying all around, he felt no pity for her. The husband picked her up, eyed Balean suspiciously, and moved back up the path, where their children were waiting. Balean tossed the arrow to the closest hunter to him.

Then Kojak barked.

Immediately looking up at Death's Breach, he saw the flash of the arrowhead on the fading sunlight before it came zipping towards him. Using his exceptional reflexes, he dropped to the floor and the arrow zipped over his head harmlessly. He saw his hunters moving back, and he decided to join them, immediately leaping up and running away from the skeletal constructs. Good thing Kojak barked to warn him, or he'd be dead.

"Good boy," he said, patting the panting dog as he trotted happily beside his master. Even as they were fleeing, he was in a good mood.

— — —

Orithos the Sky Darkener was the only skeleton not created for the specific purpose of loosing arrows into the hapless humans below in Havenshire. Rather, he was just an average Scourge soldier noted for his exceptional skill with a bow. (He'd been a marksman in his mortal life.)

The other skeletons in his crew, the Sky Darkeners—numbering about thirty in all—were created for the sole purpose of killing. Their archery skills were adequate, but it was really the saronite arrows doing the real work. Orithos was fine with that, and actually rather happy that he was pleasing the voice of the Lich King inside of his head.

He drew another arrow and released it onto an unsuspecting crusader.

In life, he felt no better feeling than releasing an arrow onto his unsuspecting prey, usually to satiate his mortal hunger for food. In death, he still felt that same feeling, but this time it was to satiate something even worse than hunger—it was to please the inner-killer within him. He'd been shooting arrows all day, and even as the sun was setting, he felt no need to stop.

Still, he wished he had more arrows. Saronite was a rare and expensive metal only found in the mines of Northrend, and he didn't like the feeling of running out (or of displeasing the Lich King, for that matter). No matter, he'd just send a few death knights down to retrieve the arrows from the human corpses, and he would be able to keep doing what he was—

The Sky Darkener next to him dropped the floor, an arrow sticking out of his head.

Before Orithos could even tell what happened, six more skeletons fell. He dropped down to his knees and instinctively drew an arrow, looking from where the attack could've come from down his bone-bow's sights. He saw nothing. Then . . .

Ten more arrows flew towards them, hitting four fatally, wounding three others, including one near Orithos, who dropped his bow and fell to the ground in pain. Orithos brutally ripped the arrow out from his spine, where he was hit, inspecting it. It was a saronite arrow.

"Those humans aren't as dumb as I thought," Orithos growled. Pushing the howling skeleton to the ground, he stood up and said to the remaining Sky Darkeners, "We're under attack! They're shooting near the lumber mill! Kill them all!"

The remaining Sky Darkeners drew their arrows and let them loose towards the lumber mill to their slight right. The arrows flew into the wooden construct, but Orithos couldn't any humans getting hit, probably because they retreated deeper into it to avoid retaliation. If that was the case, at least one arrow should've hit them, and he would've heard the gratifying scream of a wounded human. Yet he didn't, which only meant—

Eleven arrows zipped through their ranks, killing even more skeletons. Orithos looked carefully where the strike came from, and saw that it wasn't in the lumber mill anymore. This time it was behind a row of houses near the stable. Growling, he saw that he had only about twelve Sky Darkeners left.

It was too late to call upon the aid of Prince Valanar. He would've only been angered, and he cared not for the mindless skeletal constructs who offered minimal help to their cause. Even if he _did_ do something like send a few death knights down to where the archers were, they would've been long gone from the spot where they were in, and the Sky Darkeners dead.

"Fire!" he snarled, pointing to the location where the arrows came from.

More deadly projectiles flew through the air, striking the houses and piercing through the wood. This time, the attack was greeted with a scream, which Orithos would've smiled at, if he had any lips to smile with. His scream turned to a snarl as ten arrows flew towards them again, striking the skulls of six more Sky Darkeners, killing them instantly.

"Stand still, you cowards!" Orithos spat, shooting an arrow in their direction.

Before he could even restring another arrow, another volley came, taking out the few remaining archers. That was one of the problems with mindless constructs—they didn't comprehend danger properly, and as a result stand there like lambs to the slaughter. Orithos was furious.

"Kill them, I said!" he roared. "You worthless fools, the Lich King would have our heads if—"

He was cut off when an arrow struck Orithos the Sky Darkener's head. He crumpled to the ground wordlessly.

— — —

They were all gone. Balean the Huntsman had made sure of that.

He put his crossbow away, looking at his nine archers. (They lost one.) "I'll admit I didn't have much faith in you, but you delivered beautifully. Those stupid skeletons didn't stand a chance against our guerilla-like tactics."

The archers all smiled and nodded and clapped, surprising themselves at how easily their relatively simple plan went. Kojak looked back up at the ridge near the end of Death's Breach and saw something.

— — —

_(get up)_

Orithos felt his head and had his fears confirmed. There was indeed a saronite arrow lodged into his skull. And unlike all the other Sky Darkeners who suffered the same fate, he wasn't dead.

_(get up and kill)_

The last Sky Darkener gripped his bow and got onto one knee, looking down. The humans were in plain sight now, abandoning all cover. They must've felt extremely cocky now that they didn't have arrows constantly raining down on them. He would remedy that shortly.

The voice of the Lich King

_(kill them now, Orithos)_

rang through his head, giving him an unpleasant feeling. He didn't like displeasing his king, and he would make it right. He drew an arrow and strung it into his bow. He took aim at the one standing apart from the nine all clumped together. The one with a dog next to him. Obviously their leader.

_(!KILL THEM ALL!)_

Keeping his sights trained, he released the saronite arrow.

— — —

"Alright men, I want all the arrows they shot at us taken and delivered back to base. We could make a lot of use outta—"

Kojak barked and leapt towards Balean, hitting him with such force that he actually fell onto his back. Before he even hit the ground, he heard a low whimper. Acting more on instinct, he immediately rolled over, drew his crossbow, loaded and arrow, and shot at the lone figure standing on the ridge—the last surviving skeleton. He jerked back as the arrow struck and finally fell for good.

His second reaction was to check on Kojak. He didn't like what he saw.

His best friend was laying on his side, his tongue lolled out, breathing heavily, a saronite arrow sticking out of his side. He gave another whimper as Balean slowly moved towards him, saying, "Kojak? You alright . . . ?"

It was a stupid question; of course he wasn't alright. Balean could see that before he even inspected the wound, but his fears were confirmed when he saw it. The arrow was struck deep. That skeleton must've been an expert marksman. His hands hovered over the shaft sticking out as he constantly looked back at Kojak.

"It's okay, it's okay," he repeated. "We're just gonna get you over to the infirmary where you'll be all patched up. It'll be like new, you'll see."

Kojak lifted his head slightly to look at his master. Their eyes met and held.

"Sir," an archer chanced, "shouldn't we take out the arrow?"

Balean turned around immediately, lashing out. "Don't be stupid! That'd just increase his chance of bleeding out and rupturing his organs. We've gotta get him to New Avalon, quick!"

When he turned around again, Kojak was already dead.

— — —

_I've gotta admit, the miners here have guts,_ Lethella thought as she saw how close the Havenshire mines _actually_ were to Death's Point. They were literally only a few dozen yards away, right off a path leading directly up there.

Still, the miners toiled endlessly, emerging from the dark cavern with cartloads of raw resources and dragging them down towards Light's Point, where the ships waited. At least that's what Lethella was told they were doing. She had yet to see an actual miner emerge from the mines.

"A good ten to fifteen just left to deliver the supplies to the ships," a Scarlet guardsman (also incredibly brave to be so close to the enemy) told her. "The rest are still probably loading up their carts. We have a policy of always having a full cart to deliver, no matter how long it took."

Lethella nodded emptily. "They must work hard."

"They do."

Surprisingly to the warmage, despite being so close to the Scourge, not a lot was happening at the mines. The two—that being the Scarlet Crusade and the Scourge—had drawn their lines of defense and held steadfast, not letting any enemies come through. Sure, the occasional geist wandered in, but he was quickly taken care of.

Captain Borman, who had expected to bash a few undead heads in, was disappointed to say the least. It was almost as if the Scourge were intentionally leaving the mines alone, which didn't make sense at all.

The sun was setting and Lethella sighed. She turned back to the guardsman and said, "Well, I don't think my presence is necessary. You've all got it pretty well under control. Be sure to report immediately if there's an attack."

"Yes ma'am," the guardsman said, saluting. "Thank you, ma'am."

She took one last fleeing glance at the mines and said, "Alright, well then, take ca—"

A death knight emerged from the mines, a strange contraption in hand. Lethella was quick to act, using her magic to teleport her several feet in front of where she originally stood, she drew her weapons and ran towards the death knight.

"Hey!" she yelled.

She was near the entrance of the mine as the death knight fled towards Death's Breach. Lethella sheathed her sword and immediately began casting a fireball spell. That was when she heard the chilling voice behind her. "Booh!"

Before Lethella could turn around, she was clouted over the back of her head. She fell instantly, warm blood flowing down the side of her head. She looked up to see a ghoul standing there, wearing mining attire. He was about to strike again when she shot the fireball spell at his head, killing him instantly. As he crumbled to the floor, Lethella saw a terrible sight.

From the mines came charging at least two dozen ghouls, all wearing mining attire and wielding pickaxes. That's when the horrible truth struck her. Whatever device that death knight was holding, she was able to use it to turn all the miners into undead. A brilliant strategy, when you think about it. There was no need for a full-on attack to disable the mine when all it took was one death knight to slip through the cracks (probably during a staged attack to get the crusader's attention).

No time to think about that now. Time to think about survival. A crazed battle-grin appeared on Lethella's face as she drew her fire-enchanted sword. "Alright, let's play!"

Rushing headlong into the mines, she met them near the entrance. There, she sliced the first ghoul in half easily, whacking another over the head with her metal staff, dropping him to the floor. The remaining ghouls didn't seem to notice as they kept coming through . . . into her sword. She hacked and slashed, hacked and slashed, and still they came, never discouraged or feeling an ounce of fear or pity for their fellow undead.

_By the Light, she must've turned the whole mine,_ she thought quickly as she summoned a fireball and threw it at the closest ghoul, cutting down another with her sword.

The other crusaders were well aware of what was happening now, but were immobilized as a pack of amazingly fast geists rushed from Death's Point into their blockade, catching all of their attention. That worked out fine for Lethella. They would just get in the way.

She turned to her right for one second, taking care of a ghoul too close for comfort, when she felt a raking pain in her left calf. She cried out and cut the offending undead's head off. Unfortunately, this moment of weakness dropped her guard, and she was surrounded. One ghoul raked his deformed claws across her shoulder. Biting her lower lip until it bled, she stifled the pain and blasted the attacker with fire.

"Undead sonuvabitch!" she cried out. She was forced to back away towards the entrance of the mine, but found that one ghoul snuck around her, slashing her back.

She immediately dropped to her knees and the ghouls began to surround her. Had she waited a second longer, she would've been nothing but food, but she didn't hesitate, thrusting her sword up high and summoning a powerful blast wave with her at the epicenter. The fiery magic cut through all the ghouls, with most of them crying out and falling to the ground.

That seemed to settle it. No more ghouls came, but by the Light! She must've killed at least twenty-five. Surely no miner in the mine was spared, so who was left? _A few delivering their carts to the ships, that's who,_ she thought, standing up and sheathing her weapons. She left the mine.

The geists seemed to have sensed the failure of the miner-ghouls, as they retreated back to their base as soon as Lethella emerged, bloodied and covered in soot, but alive. The guardsman rushed to her immediately, saying, "Captain, are you alright?"

She brushed him aside, walking back towards the base. "I'm fine. I'll send more guards to protect and check the mine out. Until then, keep the surviving miners safe until they get here. They'll have to work twice as hard to get all the resources now, what with more than half of their workers dead."

The guardsman nodded, saluting again. "Yes, ma'am!"

Lethella began walking back to the base in Havenshire.

* * *

><p><em>Nowhere is safe in Havenshire!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	36. The Lich King's Death Knights

As Danthor and Jonas journey to the frontlines . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>36: The Lich King's Death Knights<span>**

They left their horses with Romvoy, mostly because they forgot they had them.

Travelling on foot, Danthor and Jonas walked north from the base towards Death's Breach, where there was sure to be Scourge attacks. To their surprise, though, they didn't come across a single undead as they stopped to rest at the Havenshire stables.

"This is . . . unexpected," Jonas said, resting his back against the stable fence and looking up at the orange-colored sky. "There's no action to be found here—the frontlines of the enemy."

Danthor glanced back to the stables to see a large amount of healthy-looking horses stabled and running around in the gated, circular range. Now he knew where they got their horses from. "Yeah, I don't like it. It's like they're pulling back all their forces for a major attack."

"Probably are." He heard the sound of a horse right behind him and instinctively moved away from the post. He turned around to see a dark-skinned man with long brown hair, a beard, and red leather armor riding a chestnut-colored horse with white spots.

He eyed the two suspiciously. "People don't usually hang around here. The only ones who come around here either want horses, or to steal them!"

"Well we want neither," Danthor replied. "Don't worry, we won't be here long."

"Think they can pull a fast one on Kitrik, they do," the stable master, evidently named Kitrik, muttered before moving away.

Sighing, Danthor asked, "You think Abbendis was just messing with us by sending us out here?"

"Doubt it," Jonas said flatly. "She probably hoped we'd get killed out here."

The two looked at each other before bursting out laughing.

"Keep that racket down, will ya?" Kitrik roared from the other side of the free range. This only caused the two to laugh even more.

The sound of laughter was cut short by the even louder sound of a barbaric war cry. The two looked over to see about seven death knights, all wearing the similar armor of black, stylized, sleeveless robes with a small skull at the center of the chest and belt, small iron epaulets of the same color, and a matching hood that shrouded the upper-half of their face, hiding all save for their glowing blue eyes. Each gripped a two-handed runeblade that glowed blue with an enchantment.

Danthor and Jonas immediately drew their weapons, while Kitrik let out a massive shrieking sound before leaping over the fence and drawing his polearm. "Aieeeeeeeee!"

The death knights were of varying races (it seem the Lich King didn't discriminate there): an orc, two humans (one male, one female), a Forsaken undead, a night elf, a tauren, and a dwarf.

The orc, who seemed to be leading the charge, pointed at the three humans and yelled, "No mercy! For the glory of the Lich King!"

"Looks like you got what you wanted," Jonas said behind his scarlet-colored helmet. He gripped his mace tightly. "For the Light!"

Danthor roared as he, Jonas, and Kitrik rushed forward—three on seven. They clashed near the stables, the orc striking Danthor first with his runeblade. The attack was powerful, but bounced off his shield emblazed with the red flame of the Crusade. Danthor struck up a defensive stance and shifted his body weight, swinging his sword in a counter attack. The orc dodged and laughed, swinging horizontally, which Danthor ducked to avoid.

Jonas found himself going against the male human and dwarf. They both struck in tandem, which Jonas managed to parry with his two-handed mace. Using his superior strength, he pushed their weapons away and swung his mace, hitting the human in his unprotected side. He recoiled in pain, but it was the paladin-champion who was surprised.

_It may look like cloth, but their armor is made out of some resilient metal,_ he thought as the dwarf rushed towards him.

Jonas thought fast and channeled the Light through his free hand and unleashed its power across the dwarf's face. He cried out in pain as his hood was sliced open, revealing his gray-colored skin, now bleeding from the new wound he received. He looked at Jonas indignantly before swinging his runeblade towards him again. Jonas nimbly leapt away, narrowly avoiding getting slashed. Reacting quickly, he swung his hammer and hit the dwarf in the side of his head. He heard a cracking sound before the dwarf's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell onto his back, his weapon falling form his lifeless hands.

_They're still just as vulnerable underneath, though,_ he thought to himself before he felt a powerful blast of dark magic strike him.

He gripped his chest and buckled slightly, looking to see that it was from the male human, who had recovered. He held his hand out, indicating he was the one who used the unholy attack upon him. Jonas quickly channeled the Holy Light through his hand to fix the dark wound, dispelling all unholy magic from it. While he was doing this, the human moved towards him, blade at the ready.

Jonas rushed forward, meeting him in the middle. The struck at the same time, creating a deadlock as neither gave up. Despite the hood covering his face, Jonas could tell the human had a stoic expression on his face. Behind Jonas's helmet, a strained grin appeared as he said to himself, "Can't hurt to try . . ."

Without warning, he brought his armored head crashing down against the human's, butting him square in his forehead. His stoic expression was replaced with shock as his hood flew back, revealing his black, matted hair. Jonas didn't stop there, taking a step forward and judging his opponent with the Holy Light, slashing him across his chest.

The human death knight recoiled a bit more, just enough to see Jonas's hammer flying towards his chest. It struck his unarmored arm, breaking it instantly. The death knight gave a howl of pain as he dropped his runeblade. Jonas didn't let up as he swung his mace with all his might, colliding against the human's neck. He gave a surprised expression before crumpling to the ground, leaving Jonas standing victoriously.

He looked at the hood lying on the ground. "Guess not everything is armored as strong as your robes. Lucky for me, unlucky for you . . ."

Danthor managed to gain the upper hand against the orc, dodging his blow and cutting his exposed, green arm. He cried out in pain as Danthor used this momentum to kick him away, sending him to the ground. It was around this point that the male night elf joined the fray, sneaking up from behind and swinging his sword at the knight.

Danthor's senses had been honed by several battles at this point, though, and he was able to shift his body position just in time, raising his shield to block the attack. He immediately stepped forward and went into a counterattack, swinging his sword skillfully as the night elf either parried or dodged the attack, taking a step back each time he did either.

"Come on, I thought you were the Lich King's finest fighting force," Danthor taunted, sending the night elf on the offensive.

He swung his blade repeatedly, trying to force Danthor back. Luckily, he was able to block or parry each blow and not give any ground. Feeling frustrated, Danthor could see the red runes in the elf's runeblade light up, creating a blood-colored aura around the blade. As he struck again against Danthor's blade, he could feel the extra power within the attack. Danthor's muscles tensed as he felt the night elf's power forcing him back.

"No . . . you . . . don't!" he yelled, summoning all of his strength to push the sword back, catching the elf off-balance and forcing him to take a step back.

Acting quickly, Danthor charged forward with his sword pointed at his opponent. With a roar, he shoved his sword through the night elf's chest, piercing his armor. The surprised death knight only looked at him before falling to the ground.

That's when he noticed the female Forsaken death knight running past him and into the stable.

The Forsaken picked the closest horse, a strong, black-colored beast, and leapt onto its back, kicking at its sides and leaping over the fence with it. She sped past Kitrik (who had surprisingly killed the tauren), who immediately saw her and cried out, giving chase. Not wanting the clearly mad crusader to go chasing after her alone, he called to Jonas.

"She's going to Death's Breach!" he yelled. "We gotta stop her!"

"On it!" Jonas yelled, taking off after her.

Danthor was about to move before he felt a powerful force bring him backwards several feet, landing hard on his back. He quickly got up to see the orc standing next to him, seething.

"That damned girl," he said, "taking off without us. Oh well, I'll just have to kill you before stealing my own horse."

In the corner of his eye, Danthor noticed the human female death knight coming towards him. He sighed as he saw Jonas's form getting further away from him. He wouldn't be catching up to him anytime soon.

— — —

Jonas was wishing he brought his horse now.

He had no chance catching up to either the Forsaken or Kitrik, both of whom were on horses. "Wait . . . the hell up," he panted, as the two forms got farther away.

He saw the death knight disappear into Death's Breach. Jonas expected that, and knew she had gotten away. He still had sight of Stable Master Kitrik, though, who wasn't impossibly far away. He didn't want to leave the clearly unstable man alone. Light knows what he would do.

He was about to call out Kitrik's name to tell him to come back when he suddenly saw a horseman . . . materialize out of nowhere. He showed up at the stable master's side, and immediately caught his attention as he rushed towards him on a fiery, undead warhorse.

"Aieee! Keep the change, ya filthy animal!" Kitrik yelled, setting his sights on the mysterious horseman.

The two met and clashed once, charging past each other and rounding themselves back for a second strike. Kitrik aimed high and the rider aimed low, the two clashing again in the middle. As Kitrik trotted away, he slumped down and fell to the ground, his horse riding away in fear.

"By the Light . . ." Jonas said, making a silent prayer for him.

This single uttering seemed to have caught this dark rider's attention, because he immediately turned towards Jonas and pointed his two-handed axe at him. He then rushed towards him, galloping at full speed.

"Oh, for the love of . . ." Jonas muttered, striking up a fighting stance. Now he _really_ wished he had a horse with him.

When the dark rider was close enough for Jonas to see his yellow eyes behind his bucket-shaped helmet (he bore a striking resemblance to Salanar the Horseman), the paladin leapt out of the way, summoning the power of the Light to strike the horse's back legs. The animal gave a pained whinny and bucked the dark rider off, sending him to the ground with a pained grunt. Then, Jonas saw the animal disappear into the air completely, just as easily as it had appeared to attack Kitrik.

The dark rider stood up and looked at Jonas, saying, "You won't be able to send me back to the Realm of Shadows so easily."

"Oh, is that where you're from?" Jonas asked. "Wanna tell me more about it?"

"You'll rue the day you crossed weapons with the Dark Riders of Acherus!"

He charged towards Jonas, axe raised. Gripping his own mace, Jonas met his charge and the two locked weapons. Clearly strained, Jonas called upon the powers of the Holy Light again. This time, it answered his call by consecrating the ground beneath the two, damaging the dark rider, but providing a soothing relief for the paladin.

The dark rider disengaged and moved away from the holy ground. When he looked back up, he saw Jonas channeling a ball of light in his hand. "I'm not in the mood for this right now! Time for you to disappear!"

He threw the ball of pure light towards the dark rider with amazing speeds. It seems like the dark rider didn't expect this, cause he didn't move quickly enough, with the attack clipping his shoulder. Still, a mere clip was enough to send the power of the Light through him, burning up his entire body. He cried out in pain as Jonas leapt forward, swinging his hammer towards his head.

It hit and dented the helmet. The dark rider faltered, but never fell. He regained his ground and swung his axe at Jonas, lightly cutting his chest. Using up the last of his holy power, he judged the dark rider, with the holy slash going across his neck. The dark rider gripped his throat before stumbling backwards and falling down. His body disappeared at once.

"Realm of Shadows, huh?" pondered the paladin when he saw him go.

"Jonas!"

He turned around to see Lethella walking towards him. She had just come from the mines, and looked like she fared no better than he had. "Lethella?" he asked. "What happened?"

"I can ask you the same thing," she retorted.

Jonas motioned back towards the stables, saying, "Danthor's still fighting back there. Tell me about what happened as we go back to help him."

Lethella smiled a bit. "Deal."

— — —

Danthor took care of the human rather easily. She, like the night elf, wasn't particularly skilled in the art of combat (probably due to her past life), and it showed when they fought. It was the orc that was the problem. He must've been a fierce warrior when he was alive, because he fought with true skill that kept the knight on his toes.

His strikes had power behind them. The kind of power that caused Danthor's entire arms to tingle when he blocked or parried. Danthor had received a few injuries on his torso by being careless. He tried not to make that mistake again.

Surrounded by the corpses of five death knights, the two fighters stared at each other, breathing heavily. The fight had been going on for a while now. Letting out a roar, the orc rushed towards Danthor, swinging his sword downward. Danthor sidestepped the attack, swinging his sword at the orc's unprotected side. It didn't work, as he was able to narrowly avoid the strike, swinging his meaty arm into Danthor's face, bloodying it and forcing him to take a step back.

Translucent blue frost appeared in the orc's hand. With a laugh, he thrust his hand at Danthor, causing the spell to hit him right in his chest. It was cold, but that was to be expected. His entire chest felt numb from the orc's Icy Touch. Trying to shake it off, Danthor charged his opponent, swinging relentlessly.

The orc laughed and parried and dodged. He was skilled, all right. Feeling angered, Danthor switched his stance up and threw his entire body behind his shield. His slam hit the unsuspecting orc in his chest, causing him to cough up some blood and recoil in pain. He wiped his mouth and stared at Danthor angrily.

The knight smiled. "What's wrong? Getting hurt wounds your delicate sensibilities?"

"I'll crush you, worm!" He summoned up a blast of unholy energy in his hand, throwing it at Danthor, yelling, "Death Coil!"

He didn't have time to dodge, so he raised his shield up in defense, but was knocked onto his back. The orc laughed raucously and summoned up a few chains of ice to pin Danthor down. He was stuck! The orc moved towards him slowly, runeblade in hand.

"Now you die," he said, raising his sword. "You'll see what happens when you cross me!"

Danthor expected the blade to come down and easily pierce his chest—for it to all be over. What happened instead was that a blade pierced the orc's chest. A blade with a fiery-red enchantment on it. The orc looked at Danthor in disbelief and dropped his runeblade.

"Get away from him, scum!" Lethella said, wrenching her sword away. The orc fell over, dead.

The warmage used her fire magic to melt away the ice and helped him up. He rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Thanks for saving me. I owe you one."

"Don't mention it," Lethella said.

"You should be really thankful," Jonas interjected. "If it was me, I would've let him kill you first before I attacked. Would've made my life a lot easier."

"Shut up." He sheathed his weapons and inspected his wounds. Not bad. He'd certainly received a lot worse. "I've had enough for one day. How 'bout you guys?"

Jonas and Lethella nodded and the three of them made their way back to the base.

* * *

><p><em>Mission successful?<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	37. The Havenshire Assault

After a trying day . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>37: The Havenshire Assault<span>**

At the Havenshire base.

Danthor, Jonas, and Lethella were the first to make it back, with Captain Romvoy slumped over the command table, looking up at them as they entered. A lit cigarette was parked in the side of his mouth and a smile was evident. "Well, back in one piece, I see. How'd it go?"

"Send at least twenty guards over to the mine," Lethella said. "The Scourge got in there and killed most of the miners. We need to amp up its protection."

Romvoy took this news calmly. "Alright, it'll be done. What else?"

"Some death knights went to steal horses from the stable," Danthor said. "We killed all of them, save for one, who got away with a horse."

"Horses?" Romvoy's eyebrow cocked upwards. "That doesn't seem like a resource the Scourge are in short supply of. Wonder what they need it for."

Jonas shrugged. "Who knows. I chased down the one who stole the horse with Kitrik. They were way ahead of me when Kitrik was ambushed by someone who materialized out of nowhere, saying he was a part of the Dark Riders of Acherus."

"They're not from this dimension," Romvoy said. "Led by Salanar the Horseman, they seem to belong to another plan of existence."

"The Realm of Shadows."

Romvoy nodded.

That's when Balean the Huntsman entered the base, his nine remaining archers quickly dispersing when they entered the safety of the guarded command center. He walked by the four captains. Three of them noticed Kojak wasn't at his side.

"How'd it go?" Romvoy asked.

"Taken care of."

He didn't even stop, walking past them and going into one of the houses surrounding the area. He slammed the door, and from the inside they could all hear the sounds of breaking and smashing. Balean was going wild inside the house.

"Hey, what is he—" Romvoy said, beginning to move towards the house.

He was stopped when Jonas put a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. The three of them could put two-and-two together. "You don't wanna go in there right now. He'll kill you."

Romvoy turned around as he saw a chair getting thrown through a window, followed by an animal-like cry of anger and sorrow. "Must be bad," he commented.

The three nodded.

Finishing his cigarette, Romvoy turned around and smiled lightly. "Well, I'm glad you've returned with good news. It looks like things will be going along smoothly now, and we can begin our planning for the counterassault on Death's Breach."

He snapped his fingers, and a guard came forth holding a horse by its reins.

"I'm going to go down to Light's Point to oversee its progress. The mines should be pretty much stripped by now, even with a loss of miners. And with the archers gone—at least for now—we can move more freely. It shouldn't take more than a few hours for the ships to be ready. It's better they leave under the cover of night, anyways. You four stay here and wait for me. I'll be back in the morning."

He got onto the horse and looked at the three captains—his equals. He nodded.

"It's because of your actions that we're moving this fast," he said. "When we finally make it back to New Avalon, I'll be sure to put a good word in to the high general for you."

"Thanks you," Lethella said. "We'll see you in the morning."

"Don't fuck things up until then."

He kicked at his horse's side, sending it galloping off to the shores to the east of them. Within thirty seconds, he disappeared into the darkness.

— — —

The stars shined brightly in the night sky. Most of the crusaders, save for ones on guard duty, were in their tents sleeping. Danthor, Lethella, and Jonas were not. They stayed up, sitting around the command table, the candle as their only firelight. They hoped to get some preliminary planning for the assault done.

The abandoned house Balean stayed in had been silent for some time. He most likely broke everything he could, and settled for staying alone. "I wish we could help him," Jonas commented when he noticed the house was still.

"It's something he has to sort out for himself," Lethella said, looking at the map on the table. "When he wants to talk about losing Kojak, he can come out and talk to us. For now, it's best to leave him alone."

Danthor said nothing.

They tried to apply the same bottlenecking strategy that worked when they took the Agamand Mills and what they were planning for their attack on Corin's Crossing. (An attack that never came to fruition—and likely never will thanks to the plague back at Tyr's Hand.) "Death's Breach has two main entranceways," Danthor said, pointing to the paths that led up to the plateau on opposite ends. "One by the mines and one by the lumber mill."

"Even with the reinforcements from Light's Point, they still outnumber us," Jonas said. "We'd have to use everything we can to our advantage."

Lethella nodded. "We'd post archers to send volleys up the plateau. Eventually, they'd have to send some soldiers down to deal with the problem. That's when we'd strike, flanking on both sides up the narrow path in tight formation."

"Not a bad plan," Danthor said. "Tried and true. Still, we'd have to see what Captain Romvoy thinks about it."

"I'm sure he'll be fine with it," Jonas said. "He seemed pretty adamant about getting revenge on the Scourge."

Acherus still loomed over Death's Breach as the last of the carts full of resources were hastily being carried by the remaining miners down to the ships . . .

Content with their plan, the three captains slumped into their chairs and looked up at the night sky. "Hard to believe this place was never targeted until now," said Danthor.

Lethella shrugged at the thought. "The Scourge probably saw no need for it. Why they're attacking so fiercely now is anyone's guess."

"The Lich King's making his move," Jonas said. "Scourge attacks, which have been unusually dormant for the last few years, have been getting more frequent and ambitious. Just look at how quickly they emptied Tyr's Hand."

The thought of the plague gave all of them the chills. A few more minutes pass.

Danthor glanced at the house Balean's in. He stood up and said, "Someone needs to go check on him. It's been too long. Kojak was his best friend, and it's stupid to think that he can get over—"

A brilliant burst of light lit up the night sky, followed by a loud explosion. The three of them looked to the east where the light came from and saw smoke coming from the coast—from Light's Point.

"What in the—" started Lethella.

Another explosion punctured the darkness. This was rapidly followed by a large amount of screaming emanating from the coast. Two more explosions quickly followed. Crusaders began coming out of their tents, gathering together and watching the horrible spectacle.

Balean emerged from the house and moved towards the three captains, all now standing. His face was solemn, his fists red. "What the hell was that?" he asked them.

"Something went horribly wrong with the ships," Jonas said. "An accidental cannon explosion, maybe."

Several more explosions would occur within the span of the next minute. All the crusaders at the base were chattering wildly now, most of them grabbing their weapons, expecting the worst. "I hope Romvoy's okay," Danthor said as the explosions finally settled down for good—the only sounds remaining were that of agonized screams.

If Kojak had been there, he no doubt would have barked at the sight of a death knight flying on a Scourge gryphon through the sky from Light's Point, heading back to Acherus. But no one saw it.

Lethella stepped forward, saying to some of the crusaders who gathered around them, "We're getting a group together to see what happened. We'll need about ten of you who can leave—"

_"DEATH TO THE LIVING!"_

They didn't need Kojak around to hear that. Feeling a sudden weight upon their shoulders, the four captains turned around towards Death's Point. There, charging from the Scourge base, was an innumerable number of undead—all kinds: ghouls, geists, abominations, death knights—charging directly at Havenshire. They were led by several commanders on horseback.

"By the Light . . ." Jonas said softly.

Balean was the first to react. "Archers, to me! Form a line behind the barricade and prepare to give them hell! Everyone else, draw your weapons and defend the town!"

The crusaders in Havenshire, numbering at about fifty, did as they were told, but it was clear they were scared out of their minds. "What are you doing?" Danthor asked, pulling the huntsman aside. "They outnumber us at least five to one, and without any reinforcements coming from the Point, we have no chance of keeping the town!"

"I'm doing my job!" Balean spat back, drawing his crossbow. "We may not be able to keep the town, but I'll be damned if we're just gonna leave it! Now draw your weapon and fight for your life!"

Danthor drew his weapon and turned around towards the charging undead, standing by Jonas and Lethella's side.

As Balean passed by the three of them to lead the archers, he said, "And be prepared to retreat at any moment."

They didn't have a chance to respond as he made it to the front of the line. He drew a saronite arrow into his crossbow and held it steady behind the makeshift barrier of crates. The undead were almost in range.

"Keep it steady," Balean said to the archers. "Fire only on my mark!"

There were four commanders leading the Scourge. The first was Prince Keleseth, brother of Valanar who looks like him in every way, save for his slightly-darker skin, purple hair, and wearing red robes instead of Valanar's blue.

The second was Baron Rivendare, a powerful undead human death knight who used to rule Stratholme. His skin was near china-white in color, with his long hair—parted down the middle, held up by a purple plate headband, and tied into a ponytail—almost the same color. He wore light purple saronite armor adorned with skulls at his shoulderpads. A light-purple piece of cloth covering his neck and mouth, while he carried a fearsome two-handed runeblade. He rode in on his famed deathcharger.

The third commander was Noth the Plaguebringer, while the fourth was Salanar the Horseman. They were close now.

"Ready . . ." Balean started. "Aim . . . FIRE!"

The archers all loosed their shafts at once, and they flew towards the four commanders in the front. Keleseth held out his hand as the arrows flew towards him and yelled, "Futile!"

Using his magic, he was able to slow the arrows down to a near halt. Then he teleported the three other commanders away from the frontline in a brilliant flash of light. They reappeared in the back. As soon as they were gone, the magic on the arrows disappeared, and they flew at full speed towards the death knights who were behind them. The arrows struck and kill a good number of them.

"Ready, aim, fire!" Balean yelled again, encouraged by the fact that saronite arrows could go through the death knight's armor rather easily.

The second wave killed even more, but it hardly dented their numbers as the Scourge kept charging on. Jonas drew his mace and said to the crusaders, "Remember, the Light is on your side! Fight with faith and purity, and we can overcome our foes!"

The crusaders charged as the archers fired off a third volley before falling back and retreating, leaving the four captains up in front, weapons drawn. "Slaughter them all!" Rivendare cried from the back.

The death knights plowed through the pathetic barrier, meeting Danthor, Lethella, Jonas, and Balean head on. The knight and paladin met them with a battle cry before cutting them down with their melee weapons, while the huntsman and warmage stayed behind to fire a quick arrow and fireball respectively. The crusaders followed suit, rushing forth, and the assault had begun.

Danthor quickly found himself surrounded on all sides by death knights. They wore the same kind of armor—initiate's armor, Danthor had grown accustomed to calling it—that the others wore who tried to steal horses from the stable, but they were nowhere near as skilled as them. He cut the first three down easily, blocking a runeblade strike with his shield before ramming into him and dropping him to the ground. He suffered sword wounds on his right leg, left shoulder, and a few magic curses burning the inside of his chest.

Jonas plowed through the first few death knights with his mace, brutally bashing their heads in. When they fell, a few ghouls and geists rushed towards him. He consecrated the ground beneath them and used the Light to judge and kill them instantly. Those that stepped onto the holy ground beneath him immediately dropped to the ground in pain, where Jonas finished them off. Still, he got wounded when an unsuspecting ghoul snuck up on him and mauled him.

Lethella used a few more spells before drawing her enchanted sword and joining the fray. She quickly cut down a few ghouls (fodder undead, as she called them), but then ran into a few death knights, who were tougher to kill. They still needed training, but they were able to parry and block some of her blows, even scoring a few hits on her torso, albeit nothing too serious. She summoned a fireball in her free hand and threw it directly at a death knight's face before cutting his unprotected chest. She then summoned a blast wave and arcane blast to dispel all the undead around her, but still they kept coming.

Balean kept his distance, making use out of his saronite arrows. When an undead or death knight got too close, he ended up mauling them with his crossbow. Once the abominations showed up on the front lines and began pushing them further and further back into Havenshire, the huntsman found himself relying more and more on his two, one-handed axes, cutting his enemies down with their sharpened edges. He wished he had Kojak at his side. Still, he eventually dropped his crossbow and let out a massive war cry, charging headfirst with his two axes into the front lines, trying to force his enemies back.

That's when the Scourge commanders appeared.

Baron Rivendare and Salanar were the first to appear, plowing down the crusaders in their way with their horses and weapons, charging through and slaying left and right. Rivendare laughed as he did this, yelling, "All will be consumed by the Scourge!"

Keleseth and Noth stayed back, killing the humans from a distance with their magic. The prince threw shadowbolts at his enemies, while Noth simply cursed them, killing them from the inside. After a few minutes, the two looked around at the dead Scourge lying around them and then looked back at each other, nodding. They used their magic to bring them back to life.

"Aranal, ledel!" Keleseth yelled to his enemies as undead rose before him. "Their fate shall be yours!"

"Rise, my soldiers!" Noth cried, following suit. "Rise and fight once more!"

About half of the Havenshire forces had been lost at this point, and although they all killed a fair number of undead, seeing them rise once again disheartened Danthor, who had decided enough was enough. Slaying a ghoul, he yelled, _"RETREAT! RETREAT BACK TO NEW AVALON!"_

The crusaders in the back immediately followed that order, turning their backs and running straight towards the more well-defended base, just like the villagers of Havenshire had done several hours before. Those on the frontlines found it harder to disengage, but most of them eventually broke away and began their retreat. It certainly wasn't easy, though, as the undead seemed hell-bent on killing all the living in the town.

Danthor saw Jonas pull away, with Lethella reluctantly following him. The knight was about to turn around and retreat when an abomination appeared in front of him and knocked him back with his massive arm. Danthor hit the floor hard as the abomination lumbered towards him. Balean then appeared with his bloodied axes in hand, quickly cutting down and killing the abomination.

"Balean . . ." Danthor said as the huntsman helped him up.

"Get out while you still can," he said. "I'll hold them off."

"What about you?" Danthor immediately asked.

"Havenshire is lost," Balean said, "but we still have New Avalon. My job is to make sure that at least some crusaders make it back to deliver the news and fortify our position. After that, well, I'll try and catch up to you."

"What are you waiting for?" Rivendare asked the undead, riding through the frontlines as the Scourge seemed to have just stopped, staring at the fleeing crusaders. "Don't stand around like idiots! Crush them all!"

"Their orders from the Lich King were to take the town," Keleseth said, riding next to Rivendare. "Just give it a second to register, and they'll be on the move again."

Danthor wouldn't move, though. He looked at Balean incredulously, yelling, "Don't be an idiot! We can all leave together!"

Balean shook his head, looking around and seeing crusaders still fleeing from the battle. "All it takes is a few seconds of distraction to get to New Avalon. I'll give that to you, but you have to go now."

"I'm not going without you!"

Balean booted him directly in the chest, sending him onto the ground a few feet away. "Don't backtalk me! Get the fuck outta here!" he yelled.

By the time Danthor got to his feet, Balean had his back turned on him, facing the horde of undead with his weapons at the ready. He didn't look around as he gave his last words to the knight with a powerful voice.

"Tell the others I'll be alright. My fate ends here . . . with Kojak."

Seeing no other option, Danthor left.

Keleseth had sent a telepathic message to the Lich King, requesting permission to continue pursuing the crusaders. After a few seconds, the message finally

_(kill every living being in Havenshire)_

registered in the minds of the undead, and they let out a bellowing cry, charging straight towards their fleeing opponents. "Kill them all!" Rivendare cried, pointing his runeblade forward.

_So this is what it's like to make a final stand, eh Kojak old buddy?_ Balean thought with a bloodthirsty grin. _I wonder if things would've been different if it'd been me who fought off the ogres to let _you_ live. Oh well, such is life . . ._

Without any fear, he rushed towards the Scourge, cutting everyone down in his path. He was the last living human in Havenshire when he did that, but he didn't hold that title for long.

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><p><em>The death of a warrior.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	38. Subterfuge

After the fall of Havenshire . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>38: Subterfuge<span>**

The title of Scarlet commander is given to the leader in charge of the crusaders in a specific base or area the Crusade is located in. For example, Renault Mograine was the commander of the crusade in Tirisfal Glades and Marjhan was commander of Tyr's Hand (which was why she was sent as an ambassador to Light's Hope Chapel in the first place).

Scarlet Commander Rodrick was the commander in charge of the Scarlet Enclave.

He was a tall paladin that wore an ornate, red-and-gold legplates that resembled a skirt that went down to his feet (though no one would dare say that in his presence). He wore two heavy spaulders that had the design of an open, gold book with a dagger laying on top of it. The headpiece covered his entire head with a black hood placed over a black mask with a red-and-yellow line coming vertically down the center. His eyes glowed blue underneath the helmet. The armor is meant to invoke the idea of a faceless harbinger who delivers justice to those who deserve it. Hence its name, Judgment armor.

Rodrick resided in the Scarlet Hold in New Avalon, in a room on the second story that eerily resembles the same one Abbendis took Danthor, Jonas, Lethella, and Balean to when they first entered Tyr's Hand. Danthor, Jonas, and Lethella were standing in that room now, but Balean was no longer with them.

"Havenshire's in flames," Rodrick stated, pacing back and forth by the command table (which had few things on it—just a few pieces of paper, a map, and a book) near the back of the room. "The Scourge have already taken it up as their next base of operations, and they're setting their sights here next!"

"We know all of that," Danthor said coldly. "We were there, and we lost a good friend in that assault. So why don't you stop wasting our time and tell us something that really matters. What happened at Light's Point?"

Rodrick was a little put off by Danthor's display of defiance. So were Lethella and Jonas, for that matter. The commander cleared his throat and said, "Yes, well, the harbor's also up in flames, but from what some of our scouts could gather, we'd estimate that someone snuck onto one of the ships and used the cannons against us, killing everyone at the Point."

"Including Romvoy," fumed Jonas.

Rodrick nodded. "Including Romvoy, yes. We had five captains in Havenshire, and only three come back. I want to know—and the high general wants to know, for that matter—exactly what happened."

"What the hell do you think happened?" asked Danthor. "We were blindsided. The Scourge attacked as soon as the harbor went up in flames! We fought them off the best we could, but they severely outnumbered us. You're lucky we came back with twenty crusaders at all."

"Danthor," Lethella whispered to the knight, "don't get too out of hand."

"No one's blaming you," Rodrick said. "We just want to know the situation we're in now."

"Havenshire is done for, half of the Enclave is lost," Jonas stated. "We should be fortifying our positions here and preparing ourselves for a counterattack to force them back to Acherus, where we can fight them on their own ground."

"And we shall fortify," Rodrick said, "but we still need a bit more information. Who led the assault? How many undead were there?"

"What does _that_ matter?" Danthor asked. "There were four commanders, but we don't know their names. As for how many, that doesn't make a difference! They have the power to raise their soldiers from the dead again and again—I saw two of their leaders do it right in front of me!"

Lethella stepped forward, saying, "Forgive him, sir! He's still visibly upset over the loss of his friend."

"Yes," Rodrick said, "I can see that. Don't worry, crusaders, we have guards at every post, and we can easily summon enough to fend off any attacks they bring. For now, go get some rest. You'll be needed to help lead the troops. You are some of our most exemplary leaders, after all."

"A lotta good that does," muttered Danthor.

"Shut up!" snapped Lethella.

The three left. Rodrick sighed and went back to his table, sat down, and opened the book that was on the table.

— — —

Highlord Mograine arrived at the Crypt of Remembrance at first light.

They had taken Havenshire and set it alight in the middle of the night. News of their conquest reached Acherus near the dawn, and Darion immediately set to work, ordering the preparations for the second phase of their plan to be set in motion. They now set their sights on Havenshire.

Wanting to overlook the progress himself, Darion rode his deathcharger out to the Scarlet Enclave crypt, located at the edge of Havenshire, just before the walls of New Avalon. Death's Breach now held little meaning—it was no longer on the front lines of their attack. The Crypt of Remembrance (as the crusaders called it) was.

As he rode through the wreck of Havenshire, he could already see his work being done. Necromancers were busy raising the corpses of the crusaders into mindless ghouls and the death knights were sitting in anticipation, grinding themselves up for war. They were anxious. The Lich King ordered them to stop their attack as soon as Havenshire was taken. Assault New Avalon directly now might hinder their plans. They had to be ready.

The crypt was right beside a large pumpkin patch that was already showing signs of death. The gravestones around the small stone mausoleum were rundown and faded to the point where they all looked alike. _They don't treat their dead with much respect,_ Darion thought. _Probably because they're afraid they'll come back and kill them._

He laughed at this as he dismounted his horse and moved towards the white-stoned entrance that led deep into the crypt. It was guarded on both sides by shades—Crypt Guardians, they were called. Darion descended the stairs.

Prince Valanar stayed back at Death's Breach, getting the death knights ready for war. Instead, the assault on New Avalon was led by his brother, Prince Keleseth. He, Baron Rivendare, Noth the Plaguebringer, and Salanar the Horseman would be leading the second phase of the assault. They were at the very bottom level of the crypt.

The bodies were cleared from the room, but it certainly wasn't spacious. There was enough space for the four to move around somewhat comfortably (and the room _could_ house Rivendare's trademark steed), but Darion pitied the commanders a little for having to carry out their grand plans in such a dismal spot.

Noth was the first to notice Darion enter. He nodded his head, saying, "Welcome, Highlord Mograine. You honor us with your presence."

"No need for the formalities, Noth," Darion said. "You've served the Lich King longer than I have, anyways. Though this place looks like no Naxxramas."

"It isn't, I'm afraid," Noth said with a sigh. "But we have to make due."

"What brings you here?" Keleseth asked, stepping away from the table he was standing over.

The green skull of the corrupted Ashbringer continued bobbed back and forth serenely in the blade, and everyone found their eyes drawn to it. Darion pretended not to notice. "I've come to see how things are progressing."

"Faster than expected," Keleseth said. "We have enough ghouls amassing to provide enough of a distraction. It'll keep them busy, rest assured. I'd imagine the death knights you've selected for this mission are on their way?"

Darion nodded.

"Good."

"I'll admit, I'm a bit surprised we're putting such an effort into getting a few death knights on the inside." Rivendare's deathcharger whinnied as he spoke. "I think we'd just be better off gutting the whole place in one fell swoop."

"It pays to have some insurance. We're sending in Orbaz, Thassarian, and Koltira in case we need any specialized task done. As for the fourth, she'll have a bit more proactive roll." Darion smiled at the baron. "She was the one responsible for destroying the entire Scarlet fleet, and I personally vouched for her. Just in case you were wondering."

Rivendare snorted. "Watch your tongue, boy. You may be the highlord of the Ebon Blade around here, but _I'll_ be the one taking your father's place in Naxxramas when this is all over, so don't go and cop a high-and-mighty attitude with me."

Mograine felt the corrupted Ashbringer on his back give off a little wave of anger. Unlike the blade (and the spirit that still laid dormant within it), though, Darion kept his cool. "The Lich King apparently saw differently, and as long as we're in the Enclave, I _am_ your superior, and _your_ job is to lead the initial assault on New Avalon with Salanar. After that, I don't quite care what you do. Are we clear?"

"Yes."

Salanar laughed.

Darion turned to Noth. "I suggest you go and get your plague cauldron set up out in the pumpkin patch. If Gothik is correct in his estimations, you'll have enough ghouls for the assault by midday. As for you two"—he turned to Salanar and Rivendare—"be ready as well. Remember, your job is to cause enough of a ruckus to get those four death knights through safely. _Not_ to destroy the town."

"Is that all, then?" Keleseth asked.

Darion cast a quick look around. "I believe it is. Be sure to keep them all under control, Keleseth. You are the commander of this operation, after all."

"Of course, highlord. Give the Lich King my regards."

Darion started for the stairs. "I will. Good luck today."

When he was gone, Salanar chuckled a bit, pointing at Rivendare. "You should know better than to talk the Lich King's right hand like that."

"Shut up," Rivendare said. "It'll be a cold day in hell when I think of him as my superior."

"Quiet, both of you!" Keleseth said. "Noth, go and get the pumpkin patch prepared; Salanar and Rivendare, just keep quiet until the death knights show up!"

— — —

As soon as they were dismissed, Danthor, Lethella, and Jonas immediately went to the tavern near the southern tip of the Enclave, between two orchards and the Chapel of the Crimson Flame—the place of worship in New Avalon, where High Abbot Landgren spends most of his time. It was in the middle of the day, but none of them cared. They could all use a drink.

"Ah, shit," Danthor said, dropping into his chair. "How'd we get such an idiot like Rodrick to be our commander? The least Abbendis could do is take over military command, but I haven't seen her at all since she split my chin open."

"It doesn't seem like anyone's seen her," Jonas said. "She's just been giving her orders through Rodrick and never shows herself. It is pretty peculiar."

"Maybe, but that doesn't explain your behavior to the commander," Lethella said, looking directly at the knight. "Like it or not, he's calling the shots, so we do as we're told and don't give any backtalk."

Danthor tilted his head at her. Lethella didn't like the look he gave her. It seemed distant, detached. "Since when do you care about the higher-ups? I thought you're just here to kill every undead you see."

"I am!" Lethella shot back. "But that doesn't mean I don't believe in this organization. We're doing a great thing, and we lose great people every day to finally accomplish our goal."

The bartender brought drinks to the table they were sitting at. Danthor took his and downed half of it in one gulp. "Yeah, well I coulda stopped him. Dragged him back, if I needed to."

"Then you'd both be dead," Jonas said, taking a sip of his own drink. "Trust me, when Balean get's set on something, you can't do anything to change his mind."

Danthor wiped the alcohol from his mouth. "He never stood a chance. Against that many undead, he must've died in an instant."

Lethella sighed, then raised her glass up. "Let's drink to his memory then. Going out in a fashion all of us only wish we could do!'

The three clinked their glasses together and drank. Danthor finished his glass off with his second gulp. "The Light's taking good care of him now," Jonas said with a smile. "That crazy bastard . . ."

"So cheer up a bit, willya?" Lethella asked, shaking Danthor's shoulder to try and bring his spirits up.

His expression wouldn't change, though he did order a second drink. It was when the bartender was going back to oblige the knight's order when a crusader burst into the door, catching everyone's attention. The crusader looked around wide-eyed, saying, "There's an attack on the wall! Every available crusader is to come and help defend it!"

"Already?" Lethella asked, standing up. "They don't mess around."

The tavern had about ten crusaders in it, the rest were civilians. They all left the bar. Jonas went over to the stables and grabbed the horse he used to get to the tavern. He had learned from his last mistake. "I think I'll take my horse this time."

The other two captains nodded. "Good idea."

In the distance, they could hear the sound of the ghouls, the crusaders, and of steel. The humans would need someone commanding them, and Danthor, Lethella, and Jonas were happy to oblige.

Even though Danthor was the only one who visibly showed his distress, they all wanted an excuse to get rid of their pent-up rage. A Scourge attack seemed like the perfect reason to crack some heads.

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><p><em>Another attack so soon!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	39. The Knight vs the Horseman

Another attack so soon! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>39: The Knight vs. the Horseman<span>**

Ghouls.

Hundreds upon hundreds of ghouls rushed through the openings in the wall, straight into the lines of devout crusaders who fought them mercilessly. The wall separating Havenshire from New Avalon had no gate to separate the two towns (it never needed one), which made the Scourge's job that much easier.

Leading the defense from the front was Scarlet Commander Rodrick, accompanied by the melee fighters—the warriors, knights, paladins, hunters. Helping from the back as a support group were the holy priests, led by High Inquisitor Valroth, a gray-bearded man clad in red robes with a chapeau (exactly like Whitemane's) and a large, cross-shaped staff.

It was Rodrick's job to keep them at bay, and it was Valroth's job to keep the crusaders alive. This tactic worked exceedingly well in the beginning, as they were able to fend off the first wave of ghouls with relatively few casualties. It didn't take long, though, for the next wave—an even large one, to boot—to come rushing towards them. The crusaders held their ground valiantly, but each fallen human meant another raised ghoul.

The battle was at a standstill with neither side gaining nor losing ground when the three captains rode in on horseback. Danthor didn't even bother assessing the situation. He saw which front needed the most help, let out a battle cry, drew his sword, and swept into the frontlines with his horse, cutting down every ghoul in his way.

"Danthor, wait!" Lethella cried, killing a ghoul with a fireball from her steed. "Let's attack together!"

There were only two paths leading from Havenshire into New Avalon, and Danthor was on the east path, nearest to the blacksmith and Scarlet Hold. That was the side Valroth was on. As soon as he saw the knight, the high inquisitor yelled, "Support the captain! He'll lead the charge!"

Immediately, Danthor felt a dozen blessings all at once, easing his mind and protecting his body. This gave him the confidence he needed. He looked back at Lethella and yelled, "I got this side! You and Jonas can take the other one!"

"But—" the warmage started.

Danthor turned his back on her and continued fighting, cutting ghouls down indiscriminately. Jonas, who was right next to Lethella, turned his horse to the west path and said, "Don't bother arguing. He won't listen. Come on, let's—"

Lethella kicked the side of her horse to send him galloping towards the east path at full speed, leaving Jonas behind. He looked at her action, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered, "You're both too stubborn for your own good . . ."

He went to fight on the west path.

Danthor was surrounded on all sides by ghouls, receiving several superficial wounds (as well as having to keep his horse from falling over), when Lethella rushed onto the scene, dispelling all of them with an arcane blast. Danthor looked at her incredulously.

"What are you doing here?"

Lethella drew her sword and cut an offending ghoul down. "Doing exactly what you said I shouldn't."

"This side's more dangerous."

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

Sword strike. "I don't want you getting hurt."

Fireball. "I appreciate the thought, but I'd be more concerned about your own well-being, knight! Don't worry, I don't plan on dying this day."

"Neither did Balean."

Lethella ignored the comment and kept fighting. Their combined power turned the tide of the battle in an instant, catching the attention of the Scourge commanders leading the strike. "The eastern assault is failing," Salanar the Horseman said.

Baron Rivendare looked to the other path and saw that they were failing as well. He frowned. The four death knights were behind them, on foot so as not to attract attention. A pale-skinned human wearing purple-armored saronite complete with a helmet that had small wings protruding from both sides scoffed. "Told you these ghouls are worthless."

An undead blood elf, who had long white hair parted down the middle and a small goatee on his sunken face, wearing similar armor to the human, looked at him and said, "That's why we're using them for this, Orbaz you idiot. They're just supposed to be a distraction."

"Watch it, Koltira!" the human named Orbaz Bloodbane shot back. "You're lucky the Lich King saw you fit enough to serve him, because if not I would've gutted you on the spot for just being an elf!"

"Take it easy, boys," the third death knight (also wearing the same armor), a human, said. He had a full gray beard, with his shoulder-length hair brushed back to keep out of his face. His pale skin was complimented by two dark purple marks under his eyes. "Let's not be killing ourselves before we even get inside their town."

"Shut up, Thassarian," Orbaz muttered.

The fourth death knight, a Forsaken female, said nothing.

Rivendare, grown tired of their bickering, motioned to the path on their right and said, "I'll take west, you take east. Target their leaders."

Beneath his bucket-shaped helmet, Salanar smiled. "Alright. Koltira, Orbaz, you're with me. Let's send in another wave of ghouls."

Rivendare closed his eyes. "Hold on." After a few seconds, he said, "Noth's on it."

"The joys of telepathy . . ."

Within a minute, a whole new army of disposable ghouls rose from the ground in front of the death knights. "Leave no prisoners!" Rivendare cried as the mindless undead started moving.

"Ride!" yelled Salanar, as he and his horse, Fury, rode off, Orbaz and Koltira following quickly behind on foot . . .

The last of the ghouls were just being killed when Danthor and Lethella noticed another fresh wave of ghouls (this one about the same size as the last wave) charging towards them. The only difference this time was that there was a rider in the middle of the pack wielding a fearsome axe. By the looks of him, he was their leader.

"Stand your ground!" Danthor yelled. "Don't give them an inch!"

Lethella summoned a fireball in her hand, yelling, "Archers, fire!"

A volley of arrows (and one fireball) flew towards the ghouls, cutting down the frontrunners. That hardly dampened their spirits, however, as they kept on running mindlessly towards their opponents. They clashed right at the wall, the crusaders holding their grounds and cutting down the first few ghouls in their sight. When they kept getting reinforced by their undead allies, though, that's when the battle started to even out.

More humans fell and more ghouls fell, but the ghouls were replaceable. With every dead crusader, they lost a little more ground. What's worse was that their leader was riding through, easily cutting down his enemies with his weapon. Danthor looked at Lethella, saying, "I'm going for the leader! Stay here and lead!"

"Wait, you can't—"

He ignored her and rode out, his sword raised high in one hand and shield in the other. Salanar only noticed him when he heard him roar, but when he saw the knight on horseback—a clear leader of the crusaders—he kept him in his sights. Still, he barely had any time to react, and due to his lack of a reaction, Danthor slammed his shield right into Salanar, sending both of them barreling off their horses and landing on the ground with a thud. Danthor's horse ran back towards New Avalon. Fury ran back towards Acherus.

Salanar rose faster than Danthor, immediately kicking him right under his chin, reopening the wound (_Not again,_ the knight thought disjointedly) and sending him on his back. He moved towards him and raised his axe up high, sending it crashing down. Danthor blocked it with his shield.

Lethella saw him surrounded on all sides by enemies (not that the ghouls noticed—they just kept rushing forward) and yelled, "Danthor!"

She was about to move when two death knights began to run past her. The death knight with the helmet looked at her and her horse and smiled. "Not bad, not bad." He raised his runeblade and cut the horse in the leg, sending him and Lethella crashing down.

Orbaz laughed raucously as they continued running past, with Koltira yelling, "Don't waste time, Orbaz! Remember the mission!"

"Oh, shut up, Deathweaver," he said. "I'm just having a bit of fun."

They got a few more feet away from Lethella before running into Valroth and his priests. The death knights stopped in their tracks. "Freeze, heathens!" the high inquisitor roared. "Surrender and you'll be purged swiftly and painlessly."

"Tempting offer." Orbaz looked at Koltira, who looked back. With a nod, they both gripped their swords and charged the priests.

"Kill them!" Valroth cried as they easily cut down the first two.

Lethella was on her feet at this point, and looked at the massacre happening in front of her. Casting one quick glance back at Danthor fighting Salanar, she said, "You're on your own for now."

With that, she ran towards Orbaz and Koltira, her sword and staff drawn.

— — —

Danthor managed to slice Salanar's leg, giving him enough time to get onto his feet as the horseman recoiled. "You're in my way, human!" Salanar spat as he ran towards him again, his axe drawn.

All around them crusaders were fighting with ghouls.

Danthor blocked the strike with his shield and lashed out with his sword, lightly slashing Salanar's unprotected chest. He grunted but didn't retreat, swinging his arm backwards and smashing Danthor across the face, sending blood flying from his mouth. He faltered, and that gave Salanar enough to swing his axe towards Danthor's head.

The knight's instincts kicked in, though, and he ducked just in time, crying out and rushing Salanar, tackling him to the ground. Danthor quickly rose and aimed to bring his sword down on the undead's chest, but Salanar rolled out of the way in time, leaving Danthor's sword sticking out of the dirt. Salanar dealt Danthor a swift kick in his ribs, sending him sprawling to the ground. His sword flew into the distance.

Salanar poised to strike with his two-handed axe again, but Danthor managed to bring his shield up to his chest in time, blocking the attack. He didn't lose any ground, and using the opportunity, Danthor actually ran to Salanar and slammed his shield into his chest. This winded the horseman, as he gripped his chest. Using his momentum, Danthor brought the bottom of his aegis (the sharp tip) down on Salanar's head. His helmet dented and he stumbled back a bit.

His sword forgotten, Danthor moved forward again, intent on scoring another strike. Just as he moved within striking distance, though, Salanar's arm shot out and caught Danthor by the neck. He lifted him off the ground and brought him to his face. "Did you honestly think you could stop us?" he asked.

Danthor grinned painfully. "Was worth a shot, eh?"

Salanar answered by slamming his armored head into Danthor's, sending his unarmored head shooting back. He dropped his shield in pain. Danthor looked back at him dazed, yet still smiled a bit, so Salanar head-butted him again for good measure. "Stupid human! You'll learn the true consequences of crossing the lord of the Realm of Shadows!"

"Sounds impressive . . ." His voice was distant.

Still, it angered Salanar enough to raise the axe in his free hand. "I'll crush your puny skull!"

Before he could bring the blade swinging down, Danthor reached into the back of his pants and pulled out the dagger he had taken from Vachon—_his_ dagger now. Using all his might, he jammed the dagger into Salanar's arm. It went through easily. Salanar cried out in pain and immediately dropped Danthor, who managed to land on his feet. He smiled a bit, and looked down to try and find his shield.

When he looked back up, he saw Salanar's axe flying towards him. It cut his chest open in an upwards arc. Danthor screamed noiselessly. Even if he could cry out, it would've been cut short, as the horseman immediately booted Danthor in his chest and sent him flying onto his back a few feet away. Salanar moved towards Danthor, gripping his axe. The dagger was still in his arm, but he didn't seem to notice.

"You little rat! No more games!"

Danthor's head looked to the right, and he saw his sword very close to him. Extending his arm, he probed around, desperate to find the hilt. He didn't have a lot of strength at this point, and every second counted. Salanar was getting closer and closer, his bloodied axe wanting more.

Closer, closer . . . almost there.

Salanar stopped right in front of Danthor. He raised his axe up high and said, "I'll enjoy presenting your head to the Lich King!"

Closer . . . there! His hand gripped the hilt firmly. Summoning all his strength, Danthor threw himself up and swung his sword right at Salanar's neck. The sword easily tore through the red cloth that covered his throat, yet provided no real protection. Salanar let out a small gurgling sound as blood began to fly out in spastic spurts, staining his breastplate. His weakened arms dropped his axe, and it clunked down behind him.

Danthor only stood there, watching.

Salanar gripped his neck and looked at Danthor. He could only see his eyes, and they said something like, _You're supposed to be the one bleeding. Not me._

Yet it was Salanar the Horseman who bled, not Danthor Kurock. The Scourge commander buckled to his knees, and feel face-first. Blood began to pool around him. Danthor retrieved his dagger and shield.

— — —

The battle against the ghouls was almost over when Lethella slashed a surprised Koltira across his chest. Orbaz watched in surprise as the blood elf went down. Valroth seemed equally surprised.

The two death knights immediately turned their attention to the warmage when she attacked, leaving the priests for later. This turned out to give Lethella the advantage, as they (and Valroth) focused their efforts on healing and protecting Lethella as she battled against the two, sword against sword, magic against magic.

It was partly underestimation on Orbaz and Koltira's part. They hadn't expected to go against such a skilled opponent—and a woman, no less! Lethella didn't give an inch, using her most powerful spells to keep them on edge, while striking with her sword and staff whenever she could. The battle went on for several minutes, both sides scoring minor hits on each other.

Then, Koltira faltered, and Lethella took that chance. Summoning all the power through her enchanted sword, she slashed Koltira Deathweaver across his armored chest, cutting him with a slash and burning him with fire magic. The combination was doubly effective, and the death knight fell to his knees.

That's when Orbaz noticed that the diversion of the ghouls was faltering (that is, to say, they were losing to the crusaders), and even worse was that Salanar was nowhere to be found. Deciding to cut his losses, he looked down at Koltira and said, "Sorry, I gotta run. But it's been fun."

Koltira raised his arm up feebly, saying, "Wait . . ."

Orbaz didn't notice. He turned around and cut through the nearest priest with his runeblade, bolting straight through the line and into New Avalon. He was soon out of sight. "Find him!" Valroth demanded as the priests took off to chase him. He then turned his attention to the felled death knight. "As for you . . ."

Koltira grunted weakly. His runeblade lay too far away for him to grab. Lethella sheathed her weapons and sighed, turning back around to check on Danthor. That's when she saw him right in front of her, bloodied and smiling.

"Hey," he said. "Looks like your end went just as well."

Lethella was caught off guard at this suddenness, saying, "Oh . . . uh, yeah, I just—"

She stopped herself when she noticed the wounded Danthor closed his eyes and began falling to the ground. She was able to catch him in time, looking at his unconscious form. She turned her head to look away.

"Idiot . . ."

"You should take him to the infirmary in the Hold," Valroth recommended. He looked over at Koltira. "Don't worry about him. He'll be taken as a prisoner, and we'll see what kind of information we can get out of him."

"Yeah, sure."

On the west side, the ghouls were beaten and Baron Rivendare fled back to Havenshire. The crusaders cheered. They had won the day, but they didn't realize the true cost of their victory.

Three death knights had slipped into the town.

* * *

><p><em>A hollow victory . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	40. A Moment Alone

To the three infiltrating death knights . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>40: A Moment Alone<span>**

She entered the room to find Orbaz being thrown against the wall by Thassarian.

Orbaz showed no fear as Thassarian held one of his two runeblades against his throat. He simply stared at him with his cold, dead eyes, and said, "What, you're going to kill me? What good will that do? It won't bring Deathweaver back!"

"No, it won't," returned Thassarian, "but I'd be ridding the Lich King of a coward in his ranks!"

Orbaz laughed humorlessly. "And by trying to save him, you'll be bringing another weakling back _into_ the ranks."

"Why you son of a—"

Time to step in. "Enough," she said. "Killing each other won't do us any good now."

The two death knights looked at the Forsaken death knight. Thassarian withdrew his blade and stepped away from Orbaz, who cracked his neck and said, "Welcome back, Shadowbane. Was your trip fruitful?"

Three of the four death knights succeeded in infiltrating New Avalon. Making it past the initial front line (the one filled with zealous crusaders and mindless ghouls), they rendezvoused at the western end of the Enclave, near the gate that sealed off Tyr's Hand. Bypassing the guards posted at the gate, they stole away to the Scarlet Tavern, near the Chapel of the Crimson Flame. They took the tavern over easily, and made it their home base. Now, the same three death knights stood on the second floor of it, discussing their plans.

She shook her head, dropping the two hot pokers in her hand onto the ground. "Not really. Those zealots only babbled on about this Crimson Dawn being an 'awakening.' The only good piece of information I got was that a courier is to arrive soon, from Hearthglen."

"Courier?" Thassarian said. "Yes, there was a mention of it in the mayor's registry, if I remember. We interrogated a good number of the crusaders around here, but they gave us nothing useful."

"Gave _you_ nothing, maybe," Orbaz interjected, "but your torture techniques aren't as sophisticated as mine. I managed to get one to blab about where they keep a schedule of all the patrol routes." He turned towards her. "It's in the Scarlet Hold."

Thassarian glared daggers at Orbaz. "Just _another_ piece of information you conveniently forgot to mention. Fine, I'll go to the hold myself."

"You'll do no such thing!" said Orbaz. "You'll compromise the mission if you put your feelings into it. Besides, we have to make sure Plaguefist and his death knights show up here safely and attack the chapel. We'll send Shadowbane to do the job."

Thassarian looked at her. "Jadorra, if you're going, I have a favor to ask of you."

The death knight named Jadorra Shadowbane nodded.

"Remember how we saw Koltira clasped in irons and being dragged towards the hold? I think he's still alive in there. I want you to go and tear that keep asunder, until you either have him or evidence that he's been killed. Do you understand?"

"Your _mission_, Shadowbane, is to secure that patrol schedule. Everything else is secondary." Orbaz sounded adamant about this.

For a second, it seemed like Thassarian was going to attack Orbaz again. He took a step forward, but seemed to calm himself, saying, "There's no reason why we can't try to find him."

Orbaz Bloodbane looked at him and asked, "Why do you care, Thassarian? His own weakness led to his capture.

_(no, it was you who led to his capture, he thought)_

Not to mention . . ."

Thassarian raised an eyebrow. "What, Orbaz? That he's a blood elf? In life, we may have been hated enemies—this is true. But in death . . . we are all children of the damned. The bastard sons and daughters of the Scourge. In death, we are brothers."

"To hell with you, Thassarian." Turning towards her. "Get that schedule."

Jadorra left.

— — —

For the third time in the span of a few weeks, Danthor Kurock found himself waking up in a hospital bed. The second time in the matter of a few days, and in a very similar room in the infirmary at the Scarlet Hold, no less.

This time, he awoke in a good amount of pain (less than after he fought Garomaw, more than after Abbendis "disciplined" him). He felt groggy. The first thing he did was touch his chest, where the pain hurt the most. He felt a good amount of bandages covering it. They weren't sticky with blood, so that was a good sign, but by the Light did it hurt.

"They estimate you'll have a scar there. A pretty big one, by the looks of it."

A slightly-surprised Danthor turned his head to see Lethella sitting in a chair next to his bed. She wore a light smile. "I'm not surprised. His axe _was_ damned sharp," he said. "Just add it to the growing list of scars I'm accumulating."

Lethella's eyes glanced down to the several small scars covering his arms, then to the white scar that formed on his chin, hidden slightly by the brown stubble of a beard that was growing. "You've been out for a day."

"And let me guess, the world's gone to hell. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened."

She shook her head. "No, nothing as bad as a monastery being destroyed, but the mayor's been assassinated."

"By a death knight?"

"Yes. The blood elf death knight we took in during the attack has admitted that a small reconnaissance force has infiltrated New Avalon. Landgren's finally come down from the Crimson Chapel, too, claiming the Scourge have taken over the tavern nearby, which seems to confirm the story. He believes they're setting up a base there, and he's been with Abbendis at the southern dock ever since."

He smiled a bit at the thought. "So she finally shows herself, eh?"

"Only for a quick rally after the attack," Lethella answered. "She says the Light's been speaking to her, and that the time for reckoning is almost here. She calls it the Crimson Dawn, whatever the hell that means."

His head was starting to get out of its groggy state. He was feeling a bit more like himself. "Doesn't matter what it means. If it gets the troops fired up for retaliation, that's enough."

"I suppose so."

There was about a minute of silence. The two looked at each other for a second, their eyes meeting. Then they both looked away. "Jonas?" he asked.

"He stopped to make sure you were fine before going back out there," Lethella said. "Had some cleanup to do regarding the ghouls and strengthening the borders. He's glad you're okay."

Danthor was silent. A few more seconds passed.

"_I'm_ glad you're okay."

He looked at her. "That why you stayed here? You must be itchin' to go and kill some undead."

"I am," she said, scratching her arm. "It's just that I get worried about you. You're always rushing off to fight recklessly, never knowing when to stop."

"Just one of my many charming qualities," he said with a weak grin.

"Don't just write it off as something lighthearted!" she said, standing up from her chair. It made a small scarping noise against the rough ground. "I know you were looking for revenge for Balean's death—we all were! That's no excuse to go running off and nearly getting yourself killed, though. Your body can only heal so much before it begins to wear down. The doctors and priests think that if you keep it up at this pace, you won't live long! You've got to take it easy!"

"Lethella . . . I—" He tried to sit up, but felt a large amount of pain course through his body. He groaned, but managed to do it.

The warmage moved closer to him when she saw him sit up. She pointed to his chest, saying, "See, just like that! You don't think about the consequences and toll you're putting on your body. You're only going to make things worse if you—"

He cut her off by pulling her close and pressing his lips against hers. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she made no attempt to move away. The kiss lasted a brief instant before Danthor broke it off.

He smiled at her and said, "Shut up for a minute, willya? You worry too much."

Her face flushed. "Y-You . . . you stupid warrior! See, you always do things without thinking about the consequences. You—"

He pulled her in again and kissed her. She seemed less surprised this time, and her tense body immediately softened. For several moments, they held that position, neither one wanting to break away—to potentially break the magic between them. Finally, as if they could read each other's thoughts, they separated. They stared at each other for a while, though, thinking now that _words_ would break the magic between them.

Finally, he said: "Look, I _was_ upset about Balean's death and was trying to make them feel the same kind of loss . . . an eye for an eye. That was no excuse for the way I acted, though, and I only ended up hurting you, which is the last thing I want. I'm sorry."

"Danthor, I . . ." she started.

There was a knock on the door. Lethella immediately moved away from Danthor, looking at the door and saying, "Come in."

Jonas Merrigan entered. He took one look and saw that Danthor was conscious and sitting up. A smile immediately lit up his face. "Hey, look who's finally awake."

"You know me," he replied. "They can knock me down, but they can't kick me out. What news comes from the front lines?"

Jonas took off his red champion helmet and placed it on the table next to the infirmary bed. His face looked creased, haggard. Danthor saw a small scar that rose vertically from his left jaw-line. He wondered how he got it, and resolved he would ask him at some point. But not now

_(and not ever—before he could remember to ask again, it was too late)_

right now there were more important matters to attend to. "They're not good," he said. "I pleaded with Abbendis to give us more troops to fortify our defenses, but she's only giving us the bare minimum to repel an attack. She's too concerned about stocking up on as many resources as possible."

"Like what?"

Jonas shrugged. "Food, horses, timber, you name it. It looks like she's thinking in the long-term on this one, which isn't good when the short term is all that's keeping us from becoming undead ourselves."

"Looks like we're not gonna be getting our retaliation strike anytime soon then, huh?"

Jonas shook his head. "So far, Havenshire's been quiet, and the line's holding strong. I don't know if that will last long, though. What, with the death knights sneaking in and taking the tavern, they're definitely planning something."

"Why haven't we killed them yet?" Danthor asked.

"They're too well-entrenched," Lethella said. "We'd lose twenty men just trying to kill less than five of them. They've been relatively quiet, so we're just watching them now—from a distance to be safe."

Danthor sighed and thumped his head against the bedpost softly. "How long 'til I get outta here?"

"Half a day, at least," she answered. She gently touched his shoulder. "Relax, everything's quiet right now. If there's any mounting Scourge attacks, you'd be the first to know."

"Yeah." It wasn't any Scourge attack that was on his mind now. Right now, all he was focused on was kissing Lethella—what Jonas would call the "short term." He could tell she had her mind on the same thing, with the way she was acting.

The paladin glanced at the two before picking up his helmet and placing it back on his head. "Rest well, then. I'm heading back out to make sure everything's running smoothly. There's so few commanding officers left, it's scary."

The knight nodded. So did Lethella. When he turned his back, they looked at each other. Yes, they were definitely thinking of the same thing right now, and it didn't involved Jonas.

"I'll see you around, then." He shut the door behind him.

Danthor grinned wolfishly at Lethella. "At least half a day in here, eh?"

She nodded. "They come around once every four hours to make sure you're fine. Other than that, they let you get your rest. I'm only allowed in here 'cause I'm so quiet."

"Then I guess we'll have to make the most of our time, then."

She laughed. "Grow up! You may be a captain, but you have the wits of a child."

He shrugged. Lethella moved her face closer to Danthor's, and he did the same. Their lips were about to touch when they heard a loud noise coming from outside. It was followed by a few screams, and the clash of steel. Both of them—fighters at heart—immediately jerked away, honing in on the sound. They could hear footsteps running past their door and muffled talking.

Jonas came back through the door.

"What's going on?" Danthor asked.

"Someone's murdered Rodrick, and now they're trying to break free the blood elf we've been keeping in the basement for interrogation," he said. "Last I heard, High Inquisitor Valroth was going to deal with the problem, but—"

Silently, Danthor cursed. Being alone with Lethella was pushed back in his mind for now. They were attacking the keep, and he'd be damned if he let them take it, if he'd let them win!

Bracing himself, he got out of his bed.

* * *

><p><em>The moment interrupted.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	41. Breakout and Fight

They're inside the Scarlet Hold! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>41: Breakout and Fight<span>**

The basement of the Scarlet Hold was a small, dingy square room. If Danthor was there, he would immediately be reminded of the holding cell he was put in for the better part of three weeks to determine his "worthiness." But Danthor was not there.

Only Jadorra Shadowbane was there now. She made her way past the corpses of crusaders foolish enough to stand before her and down the stairs. A lone guard was there, his back turned to Koltira, who was bound to a torture rack (continuing Scarlet tradition of torture) in the back of the room. The guard gave one look at the armored death knight before drawing his weapon.

"Guards, come quick! We've been breached!" he yelled.

No good. She used her dark magic to pull him close—a spell called Death Grip—and ran him through with her runeblade. He let out one gasp before falling to the floor. She knelt down and picked up the key attacked to his belt. The ruckus caught the attention of Koltira Deathweaver, as he tilted his head slightly up. He looked tired and worn out. One look at his chest revealed two blue, glowing tribal tattoos (from his days before death, no doubt) and a large amount of lacerations. Whoever was torturing him knew what they were doing.

He recognized her immediately. "You were foolish in coming after me. I failed; I should've been left for dead. Now the two of us will be killed!"

She ignored his cries and moved towards him, putting the key in the lock that bound him to the dirty table.

He shook his head. "We are death knights of the Scourge! This flies in the face of the dark brotherhood's covenant . . . Thassarian, you blasted fool!"

"Be quiet." She unlocked his chains and they slid effortlessly to the floor with a clunk. "I'm getting you out of here, so you can scrounge up the will to live and follow me, or give up completely and die down here. Your choice. I've already got what I came for."

She pulled a book out of the satchel she had brought. A gift from Rodrick. Not that he gave it up easily. Koltira, surprisingly, tilted his head back and laughed. "True words, death knight. I think I'll take you up on your offer after all. Now get ready. You made quite a scene, and I'm willing to bet the high inquisitor and his acolytes will be here soon . . ."

— — —

Getting up wasn't as painful as he thought.

In fact, once he was one his feet, the pain in his body subsided almost immediately. He shook his head lightly to dispel the small feeling of dizziness he felt, but other than that, he felt good as new. _Half a day my ass,_ he thought. _Those priests and doctors must be more skilled than they give themselves credit for._

He looked towards the table and saw a sword propped up against it. It didn't look like his, but it would have to do. He went for it. Lethella and Jonas watched the whole thing in surprise, but the warmage quickly got over it and moved towards him. "What the hell are you doing?"

He unsheathed the sword and inspected it. Definitely wasn't his, but he recognized it. It lacked its enchanted glow when he held it, but he was definitely holding Lethella's sword. Oh well, she had her staff and magic, anyway.

"I'm going to stop the intruders, what's it look like?" he asked, staring at the blade.

"Don't be an idiot," Jonas said. "Injured and dressed in only cloth pants, you stand no chance against them. We'll take care of it, so just get back in bed and rest."

He shook his head. "I don't need anymore rest. I feel good as new. Let's go get 'em together."

"No, you're not gonna go run off to be a reckless idiot again. You'll only hurt yourself more. Me and Jonas can take care of it." Lethella moved towards him, her outstretched arm reaching for her weapon.

Danthor sheathed the weapon and looked at her saying, "Sorry, it's in my nature. Hope you don't mind me borrowing your sword."

With that, he took off for the door at a surprisingly agile pace. He ran past Jonas and was running down the hall before the paladin had a chance to turn his head. He looked back at Lethella, who was fuming. "He said he was sorry about his reckless behavior . . . that damned warrior. I'll throttle him!"

She grabbed her staff (also by the table) and rushed past Jonas. He looked at her back as she darted down the hall and yelled, "Hey, wait up!"

He went to follow her . . .

— — —

High Inquisitor Valroth fell to the ground. Like Koltira predicted, he did try to stop them, and even sent his most powerful acolytes to soften them up. While Koltira was injured, though, he at least had enough power to erect an anti-magic shell around them, absorbing most of the magical damage the acolytes threw at them.

Jadorra took care of the rest, laying waste to the unarmored acolytes with her runeblade and dark magic. Finally, Valroth had to come down himself. He fared no better, and fell to the ground. It was quiet upstairs, and Koltira got rid of the barrier. She moved towards Valroth's corpse to inspect it.

"The death of the high inquisitor of New Avalon will not go unnoticed," Koltira said. He managed to grab his armor and runeblade, and was looking more like himself, but he still had that haggard look on his face. He looked at Valroth. "Tear off his head and return to Thassarian. Vengeance will sooth his savage soul."

Jadorra nodded, and beheaded him with one stroke from her runeblade. She absently stuffed it into the satchel she was carrying (yet still making sure it didn't touch the patrol schedule Orbaz so badly desired).

Koltira looked up at the stairs and said, "You need to get out of here at once! Go, before more of them show up. I'll be fine on my own—I'll draw their fire, you make your escape behind me."

"Alright."

"One more thing, Jadorra," he said. "When you get back to Thassarian, tell him that they're executing death knight prisoners at the chapel. Perhaps he'll send you there to play the hero once more." Without waiting for a response, he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Your high inquisitor is nothing more than a pile of meat, crusaders! There are none beyond the grasp of the Scourge!"

With that, he bolted up the stairs. Jadorra could already hear footsteps chasing him. She waited for about thirty seconds before going up the stairs herself.

— — —

By the time Danthor got down the stairs, he saw several crusaders rush past him, all with their weapons drawn and yelling different things.

"The prisoner's escaped!"

"They've killed the high inquisitor!"

"Don't let him get away! Kill him, by the Light!"

The knight looked and saw a blood elf running out of the hold in the distance. He was undoubtedly the same death knight Lethella helped capture while he was fighting Salanar. _Looks like he's light on his feet too,_ he thought. _Gotta admire his stamina; it ain't easy being so active after being tortured._

He shook his head. He was wasting his time; he should be helping them recapture the elf! All the other crusaders were out the door by now, and Danthor gripped Lethella's sword tightly. Just as he was about to move, he saw someone else come up from the basement and bolt towards the exit.

He caught one glimpse, but all he could see was that it was a death knight, Forsaken, and a she. Good enough reason for him to give her chase.

"Hey, stop!" he yelled, running after her.

She looked back and saw Danthor chasing after her. She didn't bother touching the runeblade at her side and kept running. She clearly didn't want to fight. Too bad, he was itching for one. He meant what he said when he told Lethella he was sorry for being reckless, but this was inexcusable! It was one thing if the Scourge was trying to invade New Avalon again—that he could let go—but when they break into the Crusade's base of operations . . . that was too much. He couldn't let that one slide.

He sighed. He would have to apologize to Lethella again. She at least deserved that much.

He pushed that thought aside for now. Time to focus on the present, mainly capturing the death knight he was chasing. She may have helped the elf escape, but if he could drag her back to the hold (and let the other crusaders drag back the elf), then it would be the Crusade who would win, not the Scourge.

_(never let the Scourge win)_

"I said stop, by the Light!" he yelled. They were out of the hold and she hung a right, trying to move along the outskirts of the town instead of running right through it. So she wasn't _completely_ stupid, but she was also pretty fast. Danthor found himself getting winded, even with the light load he was carrying.

_Maybe I should be resting for another half a day,_ he thought. _Would certainly help my stamina._

Surprisingly, his last statement seemed to reach her. Right after he yelled it, she turned her head back and still saw Danthor chasing her. She went a few more feet before stopping dead in her tracks, turning around, and drawing her runeblade. Danthor grinned. _Now_ they were getting somewhere!

He skidded to a halt and gave himself a good distance away from her. Enough so that she couldn't lunge forward and kill him in one strike, anyway. He pointed Lethella's sword at him and asked, "So why'dja stop?"

She had pale white skin and light-gray hair that was parted down the middle, brushed back to keep it out of her face (with a few strands falling in front of her left eye). Her eyes had a slightly more dull blue color than what the average death knight had, and she had a strange green line that appeared under both her eyes. She shrugged at him. "You were the only one chasing me, so it seemed easier to just cut you down now so my escape can be easier."

"Sound reasoning. Hope you don't regret it."

Holding the sword in two hands, he roared and charged towards her, his sword raised high. He brought it down, but she parried it with her own blade easily. Lethella's sword bounced off and the death knight used his opening to her advantage, smashing him in his unguarded stomach with her plated fist.

He took a step back, gripping his stomach, winded. Still, he looked up at her and smiled weakly. "Not bad."

She was silent. He attacked again.

She parried the blow again, and knocked his sword to the side. She held her arm out, and a powerful blast of frost struck him in the chest. He cried out in pain and stumbled back a bit. He recovered quickly and managed to swing Lethella's sword towards her again. She held her arm up and blocked it easily. (Not so much because of her armor, but more because that strike was incredibly weakened.)

Pushing her arm upwards, she sent Lethella's sword flying from his hands and landing behind him, its blade burying itself slightly in the dirt. He glared at her dulled blue eyes and saw no emotion. She used her runeblade to slash his left shoulder. He screamed in pain and gripped his wound before she clouted him across his face, knocking him face-first to the ground.

"I don't have time for this," she muttered.

She raised her sword high up, with the blade pointing downwards. She intended to skewer him through the chest on the spot, but—

_"DANTHOR!"_

A fireball flew through the air, but the death knight acted quickly. She held her free hand out and shot out a dark skull; a spell called Death Coil. It collided with the fireball in the air and the two exploded in a show of sparks. Danthor covered his head. When he looked back up, he saw her back to him, using dark magic to summon her deathcharger. She sheathed her runeblade and got on it.

Lethella (the one who cast the fireball, obviously) ran up toward Danthor and summoned another fireball in her hand. Before she could throw it, Danthor yelled, "Wait!"

The warmage stopped and the death knight looked behind herself to see him. "Yes?"

Danthor smiled. "Last time a Forsaken left me face-down in the dirt, he at least told me his name before leaving. What's yours?"

She was silent for a second, before answering, "Jadorra Shadowbane. You got lucky this time, warrior, but next time we meet and you hear my name, I won't be nearly as lenient."

With that, her deathcharger rode off. Lethella dismissed the fireball and inspected Danthor's shoulder. She turned him over gently, and he groaned in pain. "I know, I know," he said. "I'm a reckless idiot for trying to kill her unarmored, especially when I'm recovering from being a reckless idiot previously. I'm sorry for being so stupid, and thank you for sav—"

She cut him off by kissing him lightly, briefly. When he looked back at her, she surprisingly smiled. "Shut up for a minute, willya," she said. "You talk too much."

He smiled, closed his eyes, and nodded. Jonas showed up, winded. "He okay?" the paladin asked.

"Got a pretty bad shoulder wound, but other than that, yeah," Lethella said.

Jonas shook his head, moving towards him. "Alright, let's help him up and get him back to the infirmary."

"They'll release me before ya know it," he said, as both Lethella and Jonas helped hoist him up. They began walking back towards the Scarlet Hold.

Jonas looked at Danthor and said, "You really _are_ an idiot, ya know that?"

"Yeah, I know . . ."

* * *

><p><em>The situation defused for now . . .<br>_

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	42. The Crimson Dawn

Another visitor. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>42: The Crimson Dawn<span>**

He was just putting on his armor and weapons when he entered. Danthor took one look at him and thought, _Ah man, not _another_ high-ranked visitor._ This was all starting to look too familiar.

Unlike Crusader Lord Valdelmar, who arrived to recruit the then-four crusaders to the Enclave (_And into this whole mess,_ he also thought), this man was dressed in cloth robes with no foreseeable weapons on him. He had bushy eyebrows, a brown moustache, and a chateau on his head.

"Captain Kurock," he said. "Nice to meet you."

He nodded. "You as well."

Only a day after he fought with the death knight named Jadorra, Danthor was proclaimed healthy enough to return to his regular duties. This was a great relief to him, and while his chest wound was nearly healed (and there would be a scar there, as Lethella predicted), his shoulder wound still ached with a dull throb. He could ignore it for the time being, though.

The priestly man saw Danthor putting on the last of his armor. "You're looking well. Just discharged?"

Danthor strapped his sword to his hip, saying, "Just about to leave. Who're you?"

"Ah, forgive me for not introducing myself," he said. "I'm Carl Street, known as Bishop Street to most crusaders."

"Then that's what I'll call you."

"Very good, sir," Bishop Street said. "I've just come to let you know that High General Abbendis requests your presence at the King's Harbor as soon as possible."

Danthor, who had been alone during most of his last day's recovery—mostly on the insistence of the priests, saying he needed absolute peace and quiet—was eager to get out and interact again. King's Harbor? Why not. He'd never been there, and anything Abbendis wanted to talk about was sure to be at the very least interesting.

"Alright, tell her I'll be there shortly."

Street nodded. "Very well. I'll take my leave then."

"Take care."

Street left, leaving Danthor to pick up his aegis and inspect it. He was a bit upset that he didn't get his alone time with Lethella like he wanted, but he was willing to let that go. There were, after all, more important things to take care of: namely the Scourge at their gates, and what they were going to do to survive. His shield, originally a gift from Scarlet Commander Mograine, was in pristine condition when he got it, with its red flamed mark of the Crusade standing out defiantly in front of his enemies. Now, though, the shield was dented, with its bold red-and-white color more and more showing silver from the multiple strikes it had received in its short run. Troubling, indeed. He buckled the shield to his back.

Something would have to be done, and fast. Hopefully, his conversation with Abbendis would yield positive results, and they'd start planning their counterattack.

— — —

The King's Harbor was southeast of New Avalon, near the very tip of the Scarlet Enclave. A path leads from the Scarlet Hold towards it, taking the traveler down past two bluffs and onto the shoreline. Below the rocky cliffs jutting out towards the sea was a simple harbor constructed of wood. It had a pier that led out to two galleons, one for each side. In the distance, Danthor could see three more ships anchored just off the shore.

Passing through the bluffs, Danthor saw a large number of crusaders flanking both sides of the path, standing at complete attention, wearing helmets similar to what Jonas wore and wielding blunderbusses, no doubt prepared to put a bullet into any undead who poked their head through.

Luckily, though, Danthor was immediately recognized as human, and allowed to pass through easily. His eyes went from side to side, inspecting each of them. They were like identical cutouts. _The perfect crusader,_ he thought. _Probably Abbendis's chosen best._

When he reached the harbor, he saw immediately that it was bustling, with crusaders constantly running back and forth, loading things onto the ships. The main leaders were there, Abbendis and Landgren, mostly. Bishop Street was there, too, with about five other high-ranking crusaders around. Danthor didn't know who they were, but he knew they had some prestige because they were all standing in a circle off to the side, not doing any manual labor.

At first, Abbendis didn't even notice him. She had her back turned towards the ship, shouting out orders to the crusaders, running back and forth to pick up a large number of supplies piled up near the ships to actually put them _on_ the ships.

"Come on, you lot!" she shouted. "The Light was urgent in its message, so the sooner we get these ships ready, the better!"

"Get the ships ready for what?" Danthor couldn't help but ask.

Quick as lightning, both Abbendis and Landgren turned around. A defensive look on the high general's face quickly gave way when she realized who it was. "Ah, Captain Kurock, nice to see you made it."

"At your request." Danthor craned his neck to see how many crusaders were working more clearly. There were a lot of them, and by the Light, the pile of supplies—be it lumber, crates, brick and mortar—was massive. "What exactly are we getting so prepared for?"

"The Crimson Dawn," High Abbot Landgren stated.

"But we should wait for the other two to arrive," Abbendis said quickly, stopping Landgren before he could say anymore. "Captains Merrigan and Borman should be here shortly."

Danthor raised an eyebrow. "You invited them too?"

"Of course. This is an important message that all my commanding officers need to know. What, with the untimely death of Rodrick, that only leaves you three, and everyone else on this dock, of course."

She motioned to the five other men standing just opposite of them . . .

Jonas and Lethella arrived within fifteen minutes, riding in on horseback. They'd come from the frontlines, where they reported everything was quiet. "Just for how long, we don't know, though," Jonas added.

"It matters not," Abbendis said, as Danthor and Lethella's eyes caught for a brief second before looking back to the high general. "The Light no longer calls for stern protection. New Avalon is lost."

"What?" asked Danthor. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about my decision to sail for Northrend," Abbendis said. "The Light has spoken to me, and its made it clear that the Plaguelands are lost. We must take the fight to the Lich King's doorstep."

"But they're _not_ lost!" Jonas said. "We still hold New Avalon!"

"Think about it, boy," Landgren interjected. "Nearly half the Enclave is lost and death looms over us. Why waste our time trying to take back the Plaguelands, when we can go to the source directly?"

"But what about the citizens who _live_ here?" asked Lethella. "This is their home."

Abbendis shook her head. "It's unfortunate, but Havenshire is already tainted beyond repair, with New Avalon soon to come. It will never be the same for them."

"So we're just giving up? Just like that?" said Danthor.

"No, never!" Abbendis said hotly. "The Light has made its intentions clear. We're making a tactical retreat. They may have won the battle, but they'll lose the war, trust me."

"That's the big secret, then," Lethella said. "The Crimson Dawn is nothing but running away. We should be getting ready for a counterattack!"

Behind them, they could hear the raised voices of the crusaders, still desperately loading the ships with supplies. "We are not arguing about this," Abbendis said. "I'm the high general, and you're merely captains."

"And what about the crusaders in the rest of the Plaguelands?" asked Jonas. "Are we just abandoning them to their fate?"

"I'm awaiting word from the Hearthglen courier," Abbendis said. "When I get High Commander Pureblood's message, I'll send him back with the message that he is to meet us in the northern continent." She paused, before adding: "With the destruction of Tyr's Hand, he'll be taking the more indirect mountain path around the city."

_Along the same path where you keep your prospective recruits, no doubt,_ Danthor thought bitterly.

"The Scarlet Crusade will soon be no more," Landgren said. "Only the most holy and pure of heart will be allowed to come along, and amongst the northern seas, we will be reborn into an even better organization. Into the Scarlet Onslaught!"

"The most holy?" asked Danthor. "Who are we to decide who stays and who goes?"

"Those that are committed to their belief of the Light will be allowed to continue," answered Abbendis. "Those that aren't will be left to return home to their families. Relax, we'll only be ferreting out those that have no faith in the Light. You're lucky, though, Captain Kurock. If not for your high rank, you'd have been left behind."

"Dully noted." Danthor sounded tired, somewhat defeated. "So what are your orders?"

"Go back to the frontlines and begin the troop withdrawal," Abbendis said. "Not all at once, mind you, and do it discreetly. Tell them to make it back to the Scarlet Hold, where we'll have a list posted of every crusader's name who is to meet at the harbor. The rest will be ordered to take the mountain path out of the Enclave and back to their home. Make haste, for in less than a day, we set sail for Northrend."

"This is cowardly, and you know it," Danthor said as he began to walk away. "But I'll follow your orders, because I believe we can do good in Northrend. Good day, high general."

Abbendis nodded. "You don't have to like it. You just have to obey orders. Now go!"

Danthor took one of the horses that was waiting to be put on the ship and rode off with his two companions.

— — —

"That idiot!" Danthor cursed as he, Lethella, and Jonas dismounted near the Scarlet Hold. "She has no idea how foolish this decision is."

"The woman is swayed only by the Light," Jonas said. "If it tells her something—or she _thinks_ it tells her something—she'll do it."

"Not the best qualities of a leader, to be sure," Lethella added, "but what are we to do? We can't change her mind, and taking the fight to the Lich King himself does sound appealing, I must admit."

"I know. I just wish we weren't doing it in such a cowardly way."

They stopped at the frontline. The stone walls that separated the boundaries between New Avalon and Havenshire still held strong, with the two main entranceways held strong by two rows of shielded defenders in the front, a group of archers behind them, and a group of priests behind the archers. Ghouls were still trying to make their way through, but they were easily cut and shot down. It was perfect for defense, but that's _all_ it was good for. They wouldn't be able to take Havenshire with so little people.

As they dismounted their horses, Jonas said, "Don't worry about it too much. In my experience, a lot of things act as blessings in disguise. We have no attachment to this land anyways."

"Now you're sounding just like Abbendis," Danthor sighed as he slowly walked towards the western path, the one by the blacksmith.

"Captain Kurock, Captain Borman, Captain Merrigan," an official-looking priest (_Probably the impromptu leader of this side while we're away,_ Danthor thought) said, moving away from the group of priests he was directing. "How nice to see you. You here to take over?"

"I'm afraid not," Lethella said, shaking her head.

The priest looked at them quizzically. "Oh, well then perhaps you need some supplies? The blacksmith is still open and repairing our damaged armor and weapons." He pointed to the blacksmith shop to their right. Fumes were billowing out of it.

"No, we're good for now," Jonas said. "They give us captains pretty high-quality weapons and armor."

The priest nodded. "I see, sir. It must be nice. We're stuck with the leftovers since the high general started taking the best equipment away. Still, we make do pretty well, I'd say. Our casualties have been incredibly low for the last day or so, and—"

"Look, we're here to start shutting this operation down," Danthor said quickly, with shame. "Abbendis wants us to start taking the defenders away piece-by-piece to pack up."

The priest was silent for a moment, his eyes widening. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he managed, "D-Does that mean we're leaving this place?"

"We're abandoning the Enclave for Northrend, yes."

The priest's eyes lit up. "Praise the Light! It's about time!"

Danthor glanced to his two companions before looking back at the priest. "I'm sorry, what?"

"It's just that it's clear we can't hold this line forever," the priest answered. "It's nice to know that the high general is finally doing something. Oh, Light bless her! To Northrend, you say?"

Danthor only nodded.

"She says the Light tells her to take the fight to the Lich King," Lethella said. "So that's what we're gonna do."

"I'm glad we're finally listening to reason," the priest said with a massive grin. He looked back towards his men, who were resting up from the previous attack, and yelled, "Get ready to pack up, boys! We're leaving!"

A rowdy cheer arose from the group, as they all started to get up and walk towards the group. "Back to your posts!" Jonas yelled to them. "No one's leaving until we give the order, you got it?" As the men started moving back, Jonas looked at the priest and said, "We're supposed to be discreet about it, if you'd please."

"Oh, of course, of course," the priest said. "You don't have to worry about these men abandoning their posts. They'll stay until they're ordered to—I just thought I'd share the good news."

"Abbendis is going to post the names of only those who're worthy enough to leave with her at the Scarlet Hold!" Danthor found himself yelling. "Doesn't that bother you?"

The priest's eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly regained his composure. He shook his head, taking a step closer and holding his hand up to his mouth, saying softly, "To tell you the truth, I'm glad we're finally taking measures to weed out the impure around here. With all due respect, this organization was getting too corrupt."

Danthor's face contorted into a picture of rage. He took a cautionary step back and eventually managed to get himself under control. He let out a deep breath and looked back up at Jonas and Lethella. His face was replaced with one that looked defeated.

_(yet again)_

"You take care of the dismantling on this side," he told them, walking towards the east path. "I'll go tell the other half the happy news."

When he was out of hearing distance, the priest looked towards the two captains. "What do you suppose is the matter with him?"

"It's nothing," Lethella said. "Now let's start breaking down this wall. Who do you think we can immediately do without . . . ?"

Danthor found a much similar reaction on the other side of the front line.

* * *

><p><em>An unexpected reaction, to say the least.<br>_

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	43. Conversations

Withdrawing the frontlines. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>43: Conversations<span>**

"Captain Kurock, I'm here for the report."

"Forget the posturing. No one's around to care."

_(a hunter leading on this side—no companion, he noticed)_

"Yes, sir. We've drawn back half of the support team—"

"The priests, you mean?"

"Yes, as well as a quarter of the archers and defenders. Our scouts indicate no Scourge are in sight, so now might be a good time to pull back completely."

"And leave our entire east side open? I don't think so. Your thoughts are noted, though. Wait for an hour—if everything is still clear, completely withdraw the support, take out another half of the archers, and a quarter of the defenders. They're reporting to the Hold when they're dismissed, right?"

"Yes, sir. The ones moving on with the expedition are going to the harbor, while the rest are gathering together for their journey through the mountain path out of the Enclave."

"Do you know much about Scarlet Crusade history?"

"I was tutored by Arcanist Doan while I was at the monastery, sir."

"I as well. Then surely you must know about what happened with our _first_ attempt at an expedition to Northrend."

"I do, sir. The ships were lost off the coast, killing Grand Admiral Barean Westwind, Captain-General Orman, and Invar One-Arm."

"An utter failure, in other words."

"If you say so, sir."

"I do say so. So tell me, even knowing that, why does everyone seem so intent on shipping off to the frozen continent? Don't they think we're sailing to our doom? If not because of the environment, then at the hands of the Lich King?"

"They have nothing here. They think the Light's delivering them to the heart of the Scourge to rid the world of them once and for all. That's what _I_ think, anyways."

"Get on out of here. Come back in an hour."

"Yes, sir. See you soon, sir."

"Shithead . . ."

— — —

Sun's setting.

Danthor, Jonas, and Lethella had completed their task. Most of the frontline defenders had been dismissed, leaving only a handful of defenders and archers to hold the position—mostly to get the warning out that the Scourge were attacking as quickly as possible. They would be let aware of the Crusade's departure for Northrend not a minute before they had to. Once they left their post, the Scarlet Enclave was as good as finished.

"Northrend, Northrend . . ." Danthor mused, tapping the back of his head gently against the stone wall. "Oh, what a wasteland we're headed to."

Jonas uncorked a bottle of wine, took a swig, and handed it to Danthor. "You're looking at it all wrong. At least we'll finally get out of Lordaeron, eh?"

Danthor grabbed the bottle and drank deep. With their mission done, the three captains decided to hole up in the Scarlet Hold pantry. Mostly it had been stripped clean, but there was a few good things left behind in their haste to get everything on the ships. Abbendis told them they wouldn't be leaving before nightfall, so they all figured they had time.

It was their last time there, after all. The place was mostly empty.

Danthor handed the bottle down to Lethella, who happily took a drink. She wiped her mouth and let out a refreshed _aaah!_ "You're just gonna have to accept it, Danthor. We're shippin' out to Northrend, and there's nothing we can do."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I have to be _happy_ about it."

The wine was passed back to Jonas, who took another draught. "I don't think any of us are too happy about it. I mean, I feel like shit just thinking about how we're abandoning the last real safe haven in the Plaguelands. What're all the people who lived here gonna do?"

"The ones who're still alive, you mean?" asked Lethella.

Jonas nodded and handed the bottle to Danthor.

"And all those bastards are cheering at leaving." He downed a fourth of the bottle with one gulp. "I mean, what the fuck? Did none of them have hopes of a counterattack? Was Romvoy and us really the only ones who had hopes to strike back?"

"And Balean, too . . ." Lethella said softly.

"Yeah, and Balean!" He handed the bottle to Lethella. "He probably believed in it the most. Why else would he sacrifice himself like that? Now we're just spitting on his grave by leaving. What the hell did he die for, anyway?"

Lethella took a sip. "Not for this, that's for sure. He'd be the angriest out of us all if he was still here."

Jonas took the bottle and drank deeply. "Yeah, well he's not here! And even if he was, he'd be smart enough to know that there's no point in complaining. We're better off spending our energy thinking about our plans ahead. Or even just leaving the Enclave alive!"

He raised the bottle up to take another drink, but Danthor snatched it out of his hands, taking the rest for himself. He finished what was left of it (which wasn't much by this point).

"Abbendis is a fool," Danthor muttered. "We'll never take Lordaeron back now."

"Think in the long-term." That was Lethella. "If we kill the Lich King, we'll free all of Lordaeron overnight."

Danthor grunted. "And what makes you think we can kill the Lich King? No one here—not even Abbendis—could take him on. We're just charging to our deaths. We're swapping out one dying ground for another, and the one we're choosing is a helluva lot colder."

He threw the empty bottle against the wall. The shattering was brief, the noise it made even briefer. They were left in silence.

Jonas closed his eyes. "It's getting dark. We should be getting out of here."

The three of them left silently. They never stepped foot in the Scarlet Hold again. It would be torn down and in flames in a couple of hours.

— — —

Acherus had considerably less people in it now than when it first landed at the Enclave, filled to the brim with bloodthirsty Scourge. Most of the necropolis's inhabitants were on the ground, either at Death's Breach or the Crypt of Remembrance. A day ago, most were at the crypt, but now more and more undead were showing up at the Breach. They knew the endgame was coming, and the staging ground for where it ended would be where it began.

Still, there were only a few high-ranking Scourge members left at the Ebon Hold, and Darion Mograine welcomed the peace and quiet. He rested in his main chamber, waiting to hear word. The corrupted Ashbringer was still strapped to his back, and it was silent for the most part. Darion also welcomed this. For the past few days, he'd been sensing an uneasy feeling emanating from the blade. The unhappy whispers of his dead father he could deal with, but this feeling was even worse. It almost felt like—

_(come to me)_

As soon as Darion heard the message, he was moving. He knew exactly where his master was calling from, and it would be the work of but a second to get there. He exited his chamber and proceeded down the path towards a circular purple portal. Stepping onto the portal, he was immediately teleported to the second level of Acherus, directly above where he was standing.

Behind him was the Lich King, overlooking the destruction.

Darion mounted the stairs to his right and stood next to his master. Even in the relatively moderate temperature of the Enclave, chilled breath still left the Lich King's mouth every time he breathed in and out.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Darion looked to see Havenshire in flames. Geists and ghouls were roaming around, eating at the wayward corpses. The ones that the necromancers weren't busy resurrecting, anyway. Past the smoke, the walls of New Avalon were starting to crumble. The ghouls and death knights had launched their final assault. The defenders were still holding out, but it wouldn't last long. The last night had fallen over the fortified town.

"Yes, my king, it is. What news from the front?"

"Rivendare and Keleseth are leading the charge," the Lich King said. "They assure me they'll have New Avalon breached in a few short hours. We must take it as soon as possible."

Darion looked at the Lich King. "What's the rush?"

"The Scarlet armies march from Hearthglen and Tirisfal. They'll be here in less than a day."

"What?" Darion hadn't heard about this. How the Lich King knew was beyond him. It was just one of the many things he didn't question. "How many?"

"Enough to pose a threat," the Lich King said. "If they were to combine themselves with the current forces in New Avalon, enough to form a worthy counterassault. If they don't . . ."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"I've been feeling a presence ever since I've arrived here," he said. "A presence that's incredibly familiar. I don't remember what it is, but all I can say is that it's been influencing the mind of the Crusade's leader, making her think their combined armies don't stand a chance, and that the best path is to sail for Northrend."

"Northrend? The fools would be sailing to their deaths!"

The Lich King nodded. "So they would, but I'm not concerned about that now. I'm concerned about pressuring them into setting sail as soon as possible. I want the encroaching armies to be alone when they get here, marching into a slaughter." He pulled out Frostmourne and pointed at Darion. "Go down there and make sure the assault goes smoothly, highlord."

Darion bowed. "Of course, my king. I'll gladly set the city alight in your name."

"And don't lose too many of my death knights," he said. He pointed to the right, towards the mountains leading out into the Eastern Plaguelands. "I'll need them for our attack on Light's Hope Chapel. You understand, don't you?"

"I do."

"Then go, Highlord Mograine. Leave no survivors."

— — —

A few hours before the final assault on New Avalon, while the sun was still setting, the four death knights gathered one final time at the tavern. Orbaz Bloodbane eyed Jadorra as she walked up the stairs. Thassarian was in the room to the right, with Koltira lying in bed, still recovering from his wounds. They both heard her coming too.

"Well, well, look who's here," Orbaz said. "Was your little trip satisfying?"

Jadorra said nothing.

Orbaz spat on the ground. "Well, while you were out burning churches and murdering vermin, I was formulating a plan. According to the schedule you gave me, the Scarlet courier should be coming from the mountains and passing by the Scarlet Overlook any minute now."

"So what?" she asked.

Orbaz shook his head. He looked as Thassarian and Koltira and said, " 'So what?' she says! I can't believe she's still this dense!"

"Shut up, Orbaz," Thassarian said in disgust. "You're wasting all of our time now. Just say what you have to say and be done with it."

Koltira Deathweaver said nothing. He only stared at Orbaz with a fiery intensity.

Orbaz rolled his eyes and turned back to Jadorra. "It's important, Shadowbane, because you're going to be killing the courier and taking his equipment and clothes."

"Clothes?"

"Yes. You're going in disguise to talk to High General Abbendis and deliver the message yourself. She'll tell us all we need to know."

"Why don't I just kill her?" she asked.

"You'd be dead before you could even draw your blade," Orbaz said. "They may not be the smartest bunch, but they're incredibly paranoid. No, the information is enough to suffice. We can take care of the rest."

He threw a pack at her.

"Now take this makeshift cover and go plant yourself by the Overlook," he said. "There are plenty of crusaders around, so watch out. Once you see the courier, kill him, disguise yourself as him, and take his message to Abbendis. Once she's spoken her part, come back to us. As soon as possible, I might add. The Lich King's getting impatient."

She raised an eyebrow. "Impatient about?"

"The final strike," Thassarian said, leaving the room into theirs. "It won't be long before we take New Avalon. I'm not going to say it all hinges on you—because it doesn't, but the information we're going to get will certainly help."

Orbaz pointed to the bottom of the stairs. "Now get the hell outta here. Don't come back until you've completed your task. We have to prepare ourselves for the assault."

"As you wish."

As she left, she felt a faint voice in her head. She thought it was of the Lich King, but she shook her head and focused only on killing the courier. He was the focus, at least for now.

* * *

><p><em>The death knight's plan going into effect!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	44. The Courier

Loading up to leave at King's Harbor. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>44: The Courier<span>**

"Where the hell is that courier? He's two hours late!"

High General Brigitte Abbendis tapped her foot impatiently. Surrounding her on the pier were her most trusted officers—those who were "chosen" by the Light to follow her to the northern continent. At her back were two ships, nearly ready to sail, with three others anchored off the coast, those that _are_ ready to sail. The ships were filled to the brim with crusaders, also chosen as the most pure of the organization to join Abbendis on her trip to Northrend. There were about 500 in all.

The sun was in its final moments of setting. Danthor, Lethella, and Jonas rode in on the docks a few minutes ago, to find Abbendis staring at the path impatiently. "Perhaps something held him up," High Abbot Landgren said. "The mountain path isn't the easiest to navigate."

"A nice thought, but probably not very accurate,"Bishop Streetsaid. "If we were to be realistic, he was probably killed on his way over here. New Avalon must have a good amount of Scourge in it at this point."

"I'll give him five more minutes," Abbendis said. "If he's not here by then, I'll send my own courier to Pureblood, and we'll be off. There's no sense in hanging around here anymore." She motioned towards a rider on a horse, a red hood over his head and a satchel at his side.

"Not anymore, there isn't . . ." Danthor muttered. Luckily for him, Abbendis didn't hear him. Lethella jabbed him lightly in the ribs to shut him up.

They waited five more minutes. When the last of the sun had finally gone down, and the moon was fully visible, Abbendis finally moved from her spot, saying, "Alright, that's it. He's dead, and I don't have time to waste waiting. Bronson, looks like—"

Her command to Bronson the courier was cut off when she heard a few voices rising from the path that led to the pier. It was from the guards.

"He's finally here."

"About time."

"Light bless you, ma'am."

Abbendis looked at the path expectantly. She could hear the trotting of hooves, and that was enough to let her know he was coming. She only shook her head and said, "That fool had no idea how close we were to abandoning him . . ."

The Scarlet courier appeared at the bottom of the path, quickly moving towards the high general on his armored horse. It was a woman, middle-aged, and clearly a veteran rider. She also wore a red hood, along with a traditional Crusade tabard, chainmail, a red shield on her back, a sword on her left hip and a satchel swinging at her right side with each step the horse took. Danthor noticed she had blue eyes.

The courier turned to Abbendis and saluted quickly. "Apologies, ma'am. I know I'm late."

"Only by two hours," Abbendis said. "We were about to send a courier out to the high commander ourselves."

"That won't be necessary." She reached into her satchel and produced a rolled up piece of parchment. It was sealed with a red flame.

Abbendis broke the seal and hastily read the message. The blood very quickly drained from her face, as she looked up and said, "Is he serious?"

The courier nodded.

"High general," Landgren said tentatively, "what's the pro—"

"Damn it!" cursed Abbendis. "The armies of Hearthglen and Tirisfal must not reach New Avalon! The Scourge will slaughter them all!"

"What armies?" asked Jonas. "What's going on?"

Abbendis turned towards them and said, "High Commander Pureblood managed to gather the survivors and outliers of Tirisfal and combine them with his army in Hearthglen. They march towards New Avalon with the intent of expelling the Scourge; they'll be here in less than a day's time."

"Perfect!" Danthor found himself saying. "If we combined our strength, we could lead a counterattack and push them back to—"

"We'll do no such thing!" Abbendis said hotly. "We would be marching to our deaths if we attempted any assault. Even with Pureblood's men behind us."

"What?" he asked. "Why? Surely we'd match them in numbers."

"This is the message the Light has given to me! Don't question it!" She turned back to the courier. "Listen well, courier. The Scarlet lands are lost. Havenshire is overrun by Scourge, and New Avalon is soon to follow—they're attacking as we speak! The specter of death looms overhead and threatens to overtake us at any moment."

Danthor noticed the courier's entire eye, not just her pupil, turn the same dull blue color. He felt a deep ache in his shoulder wound.

"Return to Galvar with this message: 'Turn your armies around and prepare your ships for travel to the frozen wastes. When next we meet, it will be in Northrend.' Give this to Galvar." She handed the courier a journal. "It will explain everything."

The ache in Danthor's left shoulder quickly spread to his head, giving him a throbbing headache. He gripped it in pain and looked at the courier. Her eyes were definitely all blue. Almost like a . . . He found himself looking towards her sword, no doubt for protection. It almost seemed to give off its own resonating aura. By the Light, how could no one else see this? It's obvious something is wrong with the courier, like she's a—

"The Scarlet Crusade is no more. Long live the Scarlet Onslaught!"

"Long live the Scarlet Onslaught!" everyone repeated with a cheer.

—death knight. It all made sense now. As the courier rode away, Danthor could already see her flesh rotting. "Stop her!" he yelled. "Can't you see? She's one of them! They're stealing our information! We've been tricked!"

"Danthor, what are you—" started Lethella.

Abbendis ignored him. She turned around and said, "Get ready to set sail! We're leaving!"

Danthor wouldn't leave it like this, though. Moving quickly, he pushed Bronson the Courier off his horse. He hit the ground with a thud, saying, "Hey! What the—"

Danthor didn't bother waiting for a reply. He got on the horse and kicked its ribs swiftly, sending it moving at a gallop. He was at the mouth of the path leading towards New Avalon when Lethella yelled, "What are you doing?"

Jonas shook his head, saying, "That damned idiot! Come on, let's go after him."

"You're not going anywhere," Abbendis said.

The two captains turned around. "Excuse me?" asked Jonas.

"It appears one captain's already lost his mind," Abbendis said, looking to see that Danthor was already out of sight. "I can't afford to lose the other two sane, more capable captains in a fruitless attempt to bring him back."

"So you're just going to _leave_ him?" asked Lethella.

Abbendis looked at the two docked ships, seeing the last of the supplies being loaded. "We still have some last-minute preparations to make. I'd give it fifteen minutes before we leave. If he comes back before then, he'll be welcomed back into the Onslaught with open arms. If not . . . well, he could always go and join Pureblood."

"Fuck that," Lethella said. "I'm going after him! Come on, Jonas!"

The two were about to move before a few of the crusaders guarding the path (leaving their post to board the ships) aimed their rifles at the two of them. One look in their eyes and the two could tell they would shoot if given the command.

"I don't believe you heard me correctly," Abbendis said. "I'm not losing two captains over this. You will stay put until we're ready to set sail. Do I make myself clear?"

"Lethella . . ." Jonas whispered. He could see her gritted teeth and clenched fists.

"Dammit, Danthor, why are you such a reckless idiot?" she said to herself. Her fists then relaxed. "Still, I know you're not crazy, so you'll be back in time. If not, I'll go and find you myself."

Jonas nodded and relaxed his guard.

_Just please hurry,_ she thought. _And be safe . . ._

— — —

Danthor's horse was just as fast as the couriers, and it was clear he was gaining ground as soon as he ascended the path to New Avalon.

The town looked empty, a former shell of its once-blissful splendor. In the distance, he could see the gates separating the town from Havenshire crumbling. The few crusaders left doing their best to hold off the increasingly-fierce attacks of the Scourge. It was near the end, and the undead were making their final push.

He didn't care about that right now. What he did care about was catching that death knight who was riding away with Abbendis's own personal journal and information. They might not have been able to see through the disguise, but he was able to (for some reason; he hadn't quite figured out why he could yet).

"Stop, damn you!" he roared.

At this point, the dark magic that made the death knight look like a courier had faded away. It was now plain as day that this was a member of the Scourge riding on a deathcharger. The death knight turned around when hearing Danthor's command, and at one glance he knew who it was. It was the female Forsaken death knight, the one that had given him his shoulder wound—Jadorra!

She seemed to recognize him immediately, too, as she turned her deathcharger around and drew her runeblade, heading at Danthor full-gallop. He saw the challenge and couldn't help but smile. "Alright, if that's how you wanna do it."

Putting the reins in his teeth, he drew his shield and sword and charged towards her. They were about halfway between the Scarlet Hold and Scarlet Tavern at this point. They both met in the middle, swinging their weapons at nearly the same time. Jadorra was slightly faster, swinging her runeblade in an attempt to lop off Danthor's head. He raised his shield and blocked it.

The momentum was enough, though, to cause him to lose his footing on the horse. As he felt himself falling, he desperately swung his own sword, striking Jadorra's armored shoulder. This also caused her to lose her footing, and as the two horses galloped past each other, both riders fell onto the hard ground.

Danthor's horse rode off towards Tyr's Hand, while Jadorra's rode towards the tavern, before seemingly disappearing completely. Danthor paid it no mind. He had something more important to focus on. Rubbing his head, he stood up shakily, his sword and shield limp at his sides.

Looking up, he already saw Jadorra not but a few feet away from him, swinging her runeblade with a grunt. He was startled to see her so close, but reacted on instinct, raising his shield and blocking the blow. It still forced him onto his back, though. He groaned in pain as she moved towards him, her blade at the ready.

She raised it up and brought it down in an attempt to stab him. He managed to roll out of the way, letting her sword hit the ground. While she pulled it out, he managed to stagger up.

"It seems my previous wound left some dark magic inside of you," Jadorra said dryly. "A pity you were the only one who could see through my disguise."

"Yeah, now Abbendis is gonna think I'm even crazier than before." Shaking off his wooziness (and wiping away the blood trailing from his head into his eyes), Danthor moved, sword and shield at the ready.

He swung his sword in a downward arc, and she quickly parried it, forcing it back and attempting to slash his stomach. He nimbly leapt back and held his shield up, moving again. Went for the neck this time; she ducked and rammed him in the chest with her armored shoulder. Winded, he took a step back. She did the same.

He looked at his opponent and smiled a little bit. "What's wrong? You're not as aggressive as you were last time. If you were, I'd be on the ground with you standing over me, about to finish me off." He glanced over his shoulder back towards King's Harbor. "And I don't think anyone's coming to save me this time."

She didn't bother with a response, didn't see the need to. Instead, she summoned a ball of dark energy in her free hand and pointed to the ground. Lightning shot out of the ball and into the dirt, and a few seconds after, a ghoul rose from the ground. The undead immediately looked at his new master, and Jadorra only pointed to Danthor. He turned around and saw the living human and seemed to have gotten the point.

With his arms outstretched, the ghoul rushed towards Danthor. He braced himself and held his shield out, blocking his initial strike and immediately counterattacking with his blade, cutting him across the chest. The ghoul cried out in pain and took a step back, and Danthor took a step forward, swinging his shield upwards and striking the ghoul underneath his chin. His head flew off easily, and his lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

_Not even bothering to fight me herself,_ he thought. _Something _is_ different about her._ "Come on!" he said to her. "Fight me, dammit!"

"If that's what you wish." She moved.

Her strike had a lot more power behind it. Danthor managed to parry it, but his arm immediately felt tingly from the attack. He grunted as he was forced back a bit, managing to spin himself around and swing his sword at her. It managed to hit, striking her exposed ribs and cutting into her armor slightly. She furrowed her brow and brought her forehead against his in a butt, sending his head reeling back and him staggering in pain.

He gripped his throbbing head as blood flowed down the side of his face. Rubbing it, he looked back up at her and said, "Now that's more like it. I was starting to think—"

He stopped himself when he saw that someone else was between the two of them. He was clearly a death knight, and one of high stature by the looks of his armor and deathcharger. What gave him away to be extremely dangerous (at least to Danthor) was the blade on his back. It looked familiar—extremely familiar. Almost like . . .

"What are you doing wasting your time here?" Highlord Darion Mograine asked Jadorra.

* * *

><p><em>The highlord himself!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	45. Fever Pitch

Highlord Mograine is here! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>45: Fever Pitch<span>**

"What are you doing wasting your time here?"

It was the first time Danthor had seen the highlord, and he was a fearful sight indeed. Riding on his fiery-eyed deathcharger, his very presence demanded respect. Danthor gave it to him by keeping silent.

"I got sidetracked," Jadorra said. "Don't worry, the deed is done."

"Yes, and now our next task awaits," he said. "Look."

He motioned to his left, towards the wall separating Havenshire from New Avalon. The crusaders sent to stand guard were now all dead, completely overrun. Scourge soldiers—abominations, geists, ghouls, banshees, death knights—were pouring through the entranceways with Baron Rivendare and Prince Keleseth at the lead. Rivendare was by far the loudest, gleefully cheering as he cut down the last of the fleeing humans. Danthor felt a twinge of sorrow (but not as much as he should, and that very thought alone frightened him).

Jadorra looked back at Darion and shrugged. "So what's the rush?"

"The armies from the Western Plaguelands approach," the highlord said. "The Lich King needs all his forces ready, and that includes you." He paused, and Danthor could tell a smile was spreading on his helmeted face. "It seems like you've made quite an impression on him. You're to take up a very important role."

_The armies!_ Danthor thought. _Damn, they never got the message. Gotta get back to Abbendis and tell her, so she can send Bronson to Trueblood as soon as possible and let him know not to come. How do I get out of here?_

The answer didn't come easily. Danthor lost his mount (and it was probably killed by the Scourge, if it continued running towards them like he last saw) when he attacked Jadorra, and there was no way he could outrun a deathcharger. Even if he was able to kill it, they could probably re-summon it just as easily. Danthor thought that death knight mounts came easy in the Realm of Shadows.

_Alright, I'll have to kill them then,_ he thought. _They're distracted, and if I take the mounted one by surprise, I should be able to at least inflict some damage. Jadorra I can take or incapacitate, so it's important I get him off his horse as soon as possible, preferably dead._

"I'm honored," Jadorra said.

"You should be," Darion said. "Such a distinction doesn't come easily. Even _I_ wasn't noticed until I took up my father's blade. Keep this up, Shadowbane, and you'll be a commander, yet. Maybe even a highlord."

Tentatively gripping his sword, Danthor took a deep breath and swallowed hard. It wouldn't be easy—for this man was surely a high-ranking death knight, maybe even the Lich King's right-hand man—and _he_ could easily be killed. If that's the case, there was nothing he could do anyways.

All around him, buildings burned and collapsed. The Scourge were setting to work immediately, dismantling the Scarlet Hold and burning the buildings in the town. They probably didn't want the coming crusaders to have any defenses. They would be walking into a slaughter. Still, even with all the destruction going on around him (and by now he couldn't deny it: the Scarlet Enclave _was_ lost), Danthor felt a sense of calm. He smiled and took two steps towards Darion.

_(your journey is not quite done)_

The sudden thought filled his head, giving him pause. Where'd that come from? From the Light? No, this voice was different, and it came from someplace much closer to where Danthor stood. He found his eyes looking up to the sword strapped to Darion's back.

He'd only heard of it in legends, but he'd had to have been a complete idiot not to recognize such a weapon when he saw it. It was the Ashbringer, the same weapon Jonas said was lost on the day they entered the Scarlet Monastery. Had it been with this man the entire time? It somehow looked different, with the colors being green instead of gold, and the floating circle with a hand etched on it replaced with a floating skull. Still, there was no mistaking it.

"Now I'll ask you again," Darion said. "What are you doing wasting your time here?"

"The Ashbringer," Danthor found himself whispering.

"Shut up," Darion said. Quick as a flash, he grabbed his blade and sent it ripping across Danthor's chest. Before the knight even knew what was happening, his chainmail and tabard split open, letting loose a fountain of blood coming out in rhythmic spurts. "Who said you could talk?"

Danthor opened his mouth, as if to speak, but only blood came out along with a helpless gurgle. He dropped to his knees, head looking down at the dirt soaking up his crimson-colored liquid. Still, he could hear their voices.

Jadorra: "He's not dead."

Darion: "That's strange. I didn't hold back. He should've been cleaved in half with that strike, and yet he gets off with a scratch. No matter, this next one will finish him."

Danthor knew this was the end—there would be no escaping this time. Darion would crush his skull or cut off his head or whatever, and he would be dead. It wasn't a particularly bad way to go (for how many can say they were killed by the Ashbringer?), but Danthor couldn't stop thinking about Lethella, and all the time he wasn't going to be able to spend with her. This thought simultaneously filled him with sorrow and the utmost determination to live.

But his body wouldn't move, no matter how much he wanted it to.

_(you must live on)_

Danthor could hear the grunt in Darion's voice as he began to move the blade, heard the quick _swoosh_ as the blade was coming for him, but then it suddenly stopped. He willed himself to look up to see the blade inches away from his throat. _Looks like he was going for decapitation after all,_ he thought.

Both Darion and Jadorra were standing completely still, as if they were completely focusing on something else. After a few more seconds, Darion only nodded and said, "Yes, my king. It shall be done." He then turned to Jadorra. "Get on your mount. We're leaving."

"What about him?" She motioned to Danthor's prone form.

Darion sheathed the corrupted Ashbringer and said, "I don't give a damn about him. He's not important—the Lich King's orders _are_. He'll probably die in a few minutes anyway. Now mount up; we're leaving."

Jadorra gave him no response and summoned up a deathcharger. Within moments, they rode off together, leaving Danthor on his knees, wordlessly watching them. It was nothing short of a miracle that he was alive, and he certainly wasn't going to waste it. Lethella was waiting for him, and he still had to warn Abbendis while there was still time.

Painfully, _very_ painfully, he got to his feet and began lurching back towards King's Harbor. Whether he lived or died was out of his hands now, but he'd be damned if he didn't die on his feet.

— — —

The Lich King was silently watching from his elevated position.

The Scourge at Death's Breach worked quickly when they heard their king was coming down from his perch at Acherus. Valanar ordered the grunts to get working, and within minutes the large iron landing placed just at the edge of the cliff on Death's Breach was put in place. The Lich King descended on a frost wyrm and moved there immediately, constantly scanning the horizon.

"Rivendare and Keleseth have broken through," the Lich King said to Valanar, waiting at the foot of the landing. "It won't be long now."

The undead high elf looked up at his master and nodded. "Those Scarlet dogs won't know what hit them. It won't be long before the Enclave is ours."

"And then the chapel," the Lich King added.

Valanar nodded. The Lich King went back to watching.

A few minutes later, both Highlord Mograine and Jadorra Shadowbane rode up to Death's Breach, to the foot of the iron landing. The Lich King looked at them, his blue eyes wide in surprise. "Why are you here, highlord?"  
>Darion dismounted and kneeled. "My lord, I returned as soon as I heard your call."<p>

"What call?"

Jadorra looked at Darion skeptically.

The highlord hesitated. "You . . . you sent both of us a telepathic message saying we were wanted at Death's Breach urgently. That the crusaders from the west were nearly upon us."

"I gave no such order," the Lich King said. "What would make you think I did?"

Darion looked at Jadorra, then back at the Lich King. "We both heard it. We were told to come back here immediately."

The Lich King scowled and thought inwardly. Jadorra heard him mutter something like, "That old, familiar feeling . . ." Then he shook his head and looked at both of them with determination. "No matter. Rivendare and Keleseth's assault is a success, and I would've needed you two in a short time anyways. The Scarlet armies are approaching, and it's time we get rid of them once and for all. Are you both ready?"

"Yes, my king," they both said.

"Then rise, and listen."

— — —

Twelve minutes had passed since Jonas and Lethella were held at gunpoint. The last-minute supplies were nearly loaded at this point, and the only ones not on the ships were Jonas, Lethella, Abbendis, Landgren, and two crusaders with rifles pointed the warmage and paladin.

Abbendis tapped her foot impatiently as the last few crates were loaded up. When the crusaders on the ship gave her a nod, she turned to Lethella and Jonas and said, "Time's up. He's not back, and we're leaving."

"Give him a few more minutes," Lethella said. "Please."

"No, we're going now," Abbendis said. "Landgren, let the captains know. I'll bring them with me on the_ Sinner's Folly_."

Lethella looked at the path to King's Harbor. No sign of him—gods damn it, where was he? She gave Jonas a glance. He nodded. "I've gotten quite tired of these bonds myself," he said.

"It's settled then. We're going to look for him." The two guards could feel a large amount of heat leaving her body. Abbendis and Landgren felt it too. "And anyone who gets in our way will be burned to cinders."

The heat was so unbearable it was like she was on fire, but her eyes were as determined as ever. Jonas gripped his mace in one hand and channeled the power of the Light in the other. Abbendis looked at the two guards, her eyes saying, _Knock them out and take care of it!_

The two crusaders nodded and readied the butts of their rifles. Before they could move, the two were on them, swiftly turning to face them. Jonas slammed the handle of his mace into his guard's stomach, winding him, before bringing it down on his back, dropping him to the floor. Lethella summoned a fireball and threw it at the rifle, knocking it out of his hand. Drawing her staff with the other, she brought it smashing down on his head. He also fell.

Lethella grinned at Jonas. "Now let's go and find—"

Before both of them could turn around, Abbendis and Landgren were on them. Landgren took on Jonas, smashing him in his helmeted face with his ornate (and heavy) staff. Jonas stumbled back and almost fell over. This gave Landgren enough time to bring the bottom of his staff upward, smashing him in the chin in an upward arc. Jonas's arms flailed back and he fell onto his back. Landgren held the tip of his staff (which was sharp like a blade, Jonas could see) at the paladin's face to keep him from moving.

Abbendis brought her shield and sword out against Lethella and used her shield to knock her staff out of her hand. Not having enough time to counterattack with a spell, Lethella drew her enchanted sword and swung it. Abbendis easily parried it and slid forward, shooting her foot out against Lethella's leg to make her lose her footing. She let out an involuntary cry as Abbendis slammed her shield down on Lethella's sword arm, causing her to drop it as well. Then, moving just as quickly, Abbendis slammed her head against the warmage's, sending her onto her back as well, next to Jonas. Abbendis held her sword to Lethella's throat.

"I should kill you where you lie," Abbendis said. Some of the hair tied back into a bun had fallen loose onto her face. "But I still need you, so I'll give you one more chance. Will you sail with us, or will you die on this shore with your friend?"

There was no hesitation in Lethella's voice. "Fuck you. We're leaving."

Jonas nodded in agreement.

Abbendis sighed and pushed the hair back from her head. It immediately fell forward again. "What a shame."

"Wait!"

Both Abbendis and Landgren looked behind themselves to see Danthor standing there at the beginning of the docks, bloodied and heavily panting, but still very much alive. He was holding his shoulder with one arm, but it did little to keep the blood from staining the tattered remains of his armor.

"Danthor!" Lethella said. Abbendis pulled her sword away, allowing her to stand up. She immediately ran towards him. Jonas followed. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Long story," he said, as she moved his arm to inspect his wounds. "I'll tell it to you on the ship. We have to be setting sail. But first . . ." He looked to Abbendis. "You've been tricked. The courier was a death knight in disguise, and that message never reached Pureblood. You must send a courier right away to let him know he's walking into a massacre!"

"And lose another courier in the process?" she asked with disdain. "Look behind you, the Enclave is lost, and if Galvar wants to ride to try and reclaim it, I say let him. I have no need for fools in the Onslaught. Now hurry and get on the ship. We're leaving."

Danthor was surprised, but knew it was pointless to argue. He was alive, and he aimed to keep it that way, and he certainly wouldn't be living long if he stayed on the dock. With Lethella and Jonas's help, he followed Abbendis onto her flagship, the _Sinner's Folly_.

As they sailed away towards the northern continent of Northrend, they could all see the smoke rising from the Scarlet Enclave. The lands were truly lost, to be absorbed with the rest of the Plaguelands. High Commander Galvar Pureblood was walking into a trap, and no one cared. A cold wind blew.

Shivering, Danthor and Lethella held each other closely, unable to take their eyes off of the destruction slowly fading into the distance.

* * *

><p><em>Complete and utter destruction, yet life is still full of possibilities in Northrend.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	46. The Time Shuffle

With the Enclave at their back, they sail to Northrend. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><em>Part 3: At Northrend<em>

We come from the land of the ice and snow,  
>From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow.<br>The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands,  
>To fight the horde and sing and cry . . .<br>—Led Zeppelin

My first thought was, he lied in every word.  
>—Robert Browning<p>

So take my love, take my land,  
>Take me where I cannot stand.<br>I don't care, I'm still free  
>You can't take the sky from me.<br>Take me out into the black,  
>Tell 'em I ain't comin' back.<br>Burn the land and boil the sea,  
>You can't take the sky from me.<br>You can't take the sky from me.  
>—Michelle Dockrey<p>

—

**46: The Time Shuffle**

Two months.

Two months were spent on the ship. Two months to travel from theEastern Plaguelandsto the frozen shores of Northrend. For most of the trip, they weren't sure where they were going—the only indicator that they were going in the right direction was that the weather got progressively colder. It wasn't much, but when they stared at a vast ocean for days on end, it meant the world.

It had been the first time in a long while they saw Brigitte Abbendis step out of her personal room. She didn't look well. Her skin was a sickly green and her face looked a mess. She probably wasn't getting much sleep. Still, she wore a happy smile as she strode through the main deck towards the side of the ship, looking out.

She took a deep breath. "I've got a good feeling about this. The Light has spoken and it's telling me we're close. We just need to hold out a little longer, and we'll be at the doorstep of the Scourge."

Danthor was . . . skeptical to say the least. She shivered and pulled his cloak up a little further, hoping for warmth. His beard had grown a bit, if only to keep his face warmer. He looked at Jonas and saw the same skeptical look. He wasn't faring too well, either. _"The sea and I don't mix,"_ he once told him. He also started growing a beard. Lethella was off somewhere on the ship to help out, so he didn't get to see her expression.

Thoughts of Lethella kept Danthor a little warmer. Conditions were cramped and they all slept on cots in the main bunkroom beneath deck (_Just like old times,_ he thought when he saw it, reminiscing about his days at the monastery), so they were never alone, but that was fine. Just being together was more than enough for them. No words or actions were needed.

Abbendis took one more breath of the sea air before repeating, "It won't be long now . . ."

Just as she turned around, a crusader in the crow's nest yelled below, _"I SEE LAND! LAND TO THE NORTHEAST OF US!"_

The high general immediately turned around. Everyone joined her on the side of the ship. It was true; in the distance land could be seen. It could only mean one thing. "Northrend," Danthor found himself muttering, his breath hanging visibly in front of him.

Abbendis was alive immediately. She turned around and yelled, "Street, Zierhut, Merrigan, Kurock, get the rowboats ready! We need

— — —

_to give him medical attention," Lethella said to Abbendis. She pointed to the wound Danthor got from Darion's corrupted Ashbringer. "Just look at him."_

_ Abbendis gave one quick look at Danthor before turning around again. The ship had just set sail and she was moving to her private quarters. She looked at Bishop Street and said, "Take him below deck and patch him up. Don't waste too much of our medical equipment—it's to last us two months."_

_ Street nodded and Abbendis left, slamming her door. She wouldn't be seen for the better part of three weeks. The bishop led Danthor, Lethella, and Jonas downstairs. They went to the very bottom of the ship, where the sloshing of the waves was the loudest. It was also the storeroom._

_ Danthor didn't say much; wasn't capable of saying much. He'd lost more blood than he thought, and by the Light the wound ached! He mostly hung his head down, muttering nonsense. "Kayla . . . Gilneas . . . Shadow—shadowmaw."_

_ Street pointed to a stack of crates that was lower than the rest. It made for a perfect place to lie down. Or lay a corpse. Street tapped it and said to Lethella, "Put him down here. Take off his shirt so I can see the wound."_

_ "Help me, Jonas," she said, helping Danthor sit down._

_ "Sword in ice . . ." the knight muttered as Jonas and Lethella carefully took off his tattered tabard and broken chainmail. When it was off, they slowly laid him down and backed away. Bishop Street pulled out his satchel and started rummaging through it. He pulled out a magnifying glass, some threading for stitches, and a needle. _

_ Using the glass, he inspected the wound. "He's losing a lotta blood," he said. "We gotta work fast." He set the glass down and prepared the stitching. "Here, hold him down, Jonas."_

_ "You're not even going to try using the Holy Light?" Lethella asked._

_ Street shook his head. "The wound's too deep for that. We don't have time. We've gotta seal it now. Hold him down, Jonas."_

_ "We're not giving him something for the pain?" the paladin asked._

_ Street shook his head. "No, we've gotta move fast. Now hold him."_

_ "But—" he started._

_ "HOLD HIM!" Bishop Street yelled._

_ "Red eyes . . . destroyer . . . Tirisfal."_

_ Lethella pushed his tangled hair back from his glistening brow. "Shh, we'll keep you safe, don't worry."_

_Jonas got in position. Street readied the needle. _

_ "Hurry!" hissed Lethella._

_ The needle easily pierced the skin near the top of his wound. Danthor's reaction was immediate. _

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

_"Hold him!" Street yelled._

_ Jonas did his job._

_ The knight's eyes, which were dull and glazed a minute ago, sprang with life. His screams echoed throughout the _Sinner's Folly_. Everyone on the ship_

— — —

gathered near the rowboats to see who was leaving. There were three rowboats to their ship in all. Abbendis got on one with a few crusaders;Bishop Streetand Lead Cannoneer Zierhut were on another, while Danthor, Jonas, and Lethella were on the third. They rowed out silently towards the land in the distance.

The three crusaders on the boat with the captains insisted that they row, despite Danthor and Jonas's protesting. "You should rest yourselves, captains," one of them said. "You're going to be very busy, I'd imagine."

_The new Onslaught crusaders are at least more polite,_ Danthor couldn't help but think. Still, the idea irked him. They knew of his makeshift patch-job at the bottom of the ship when they set sail (with the way he was yelling, it's a wonder everyone on the other three ships didn't know), and they were still treating him like he was unhealthy.

He remembered very little of what happened. His memory blanked after he got on the ship, with the pain of the injury rapidly accumulating. He awoke on his cot to find out that he had been out for two days, that they weren't sure if he was going to live. Still, it seemed like something deep inside of him wanted him to live

_(your journey is not quite done)_

and once he regained consciousness, he recovered remarkably fast, moving around on the ship and becoming fully functional just a week into the journey.

Not that the journey was anything worthwhile. Most of the time it wasn't. There were cold, long days, and even colder, longer nights. He had no naval skills (but neither did anyone else), so he spent most of his days commanding and learning as he went. Abbendis shut herself in for long stretches of time, so it was up to them, Street, and Zierhut—a stocky man with long brown hair and a mean disposition—to lead the crusaders towards Northrend, going Light knows where.

Jonas pulled his cloak a little closer, shivering. Lethella had her eyes focused on the landmass steadily getting bigger. Danthor tilted his head back and looked up towards the sky. It looked like the sky back in Lordaeron, only much cloudier and foggier.

The fog . . .

Instinctively, Danthor looked back towards the ships. There were only three of them. They lost one of the ships just a week ago. They were getting closer to Northrend at that time. Everyone could tell because the weather got colder by the day, the sky was constantly overcast, and the fog

— — —

_was particularly thick that day. The navigator couldn't see more than ten feet in front of him. The four ships had to constantly yell back and forth to one another to make sure they weren't running into each other. Using sound was an imprecise science, to be sure, Danthor thought, but it was better than nothing._

_ Zierhut was on the starboard side, yelling to the ship they hoped was next to them, "You doing good over there?"_

_ A man named LeCraft answered. He was the main torturer of the Scarlet Onslaught. Similar in clothing to Vishas, though not much else could be said in similarity on their appearance. Still, he _reminded_ Danthor of the monastery interrogator. _

_"All present and accounted for. You keeping the ship on course?"_

_ "That's something you might wanna ask the captain," Zierhut said. To that, there was no response._

_ Danthor was on the other side of the ship with the same job. "Is everything good over there?" he yelled._

_ There was no response._

_ Puzzled, Danthor cupped his mouth and yelled, "Crusaders of _Light's Judgment_, can you hear me?"_

_ He heard a series of grunts and what sounded like paddling. Danthor looked around and glanced at Jonas and Lethella (who were on deck running the daily maintenance) skeptically. The fog started to clear up. When he turned back around, he saw three massive longboats coming straight towards them. On them were ten green-skinned giants apiece, looking as if they'd just risen from the ocean depths._

_ At first, Danthor said nothing. He was too surprised to speak. Then, the giant in front of the middle longboat poised a harpoon and threw it. It hit the side of the _Sinner's Folly_, and that snapped the captain out of it. He shook his head and yelled, "Attack! Attack on the port side! To arms, crusaders!"_

_ He drew his sword and shield and immediately moved away. Bishop Street moved immediately, ringing the distress bell, yelling so that all ships could hear, _"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! BE ON YOUR GUARD!"

_ Most of the crusaders on the ship began to bunch up on the port side, and when Danthor got another good look (and it was getting clearer by the second—the fog was dissipating at a rapid rate), he saw at least ten more longboats behind the original three coming towards them, all with giants armed and looking for a fight._

_ "Oh no . . ." Jonas said._

_ One of the front-running pointed at the ship and let out a massive roar. Every giant followed, and that's when they all noticed that every ship was surrounded. Getting a closer look at the ship, the _Light's Judgment_, Danthor could see that the giants had already boarded and were attacking the hapless crusaders._

_ The longboats were in range now. Cannoneer Zierhut was behind a cannon along with a few other crusaders. He raised his arm and threw it down, yelling, "Fire!"_

_ The cannons blazed and flew towards the longboats. Only two hit longboats, demolishing them and sending the giants into the ocean. The rest only caused splashes of water, and the giants were undeterred. They were in striking range now. Letting out another primordial yell, the giants on the closest longboats threw grappling hooks towards the side of the ship. They hit and the crusaders backed off. Armed with harpoons, the giants started climbing._

_ At this point, Abbendis stepped out of her chambers, weapons at the ready. She took over, yelling, "What are you doing? Cut the ropes before they get on, quick! Don't stop firing the cannons, either!"_

_ The crusaders did as they were told, with a brave few cutting the ropes, but they were coming from every side and it was too late. The first dripping giant hit the deck, took a second to look around, and struck, shoving his harpoon through the first crusader he saw. _

_ "Attack!" Danthor yelled, rushing towards the giants._

_ "For the Light!" Jonas yelled._

_ "Push them back!" Lethella yelled._

_ All the crusaders charged, and the battle was on. _

_ Danthor hit them first, blocking his harpoon strike and counterattacking with his sword. Hitting him in the arm, it _felt_ like he was cutting through water. Still, the green-bearded giant let out a loud enough roar of pain, and Danthor took that as a sign to pierce him through his unarmored chest. The giant stared at him for a few seconds before his eyes rolled back into his head, and he burst into water, spraying Danthor and the deck._

The hell?_ he thought. He didn't have time to think it over, however, as the next giant was one the attack. Danthor roared and met him, cutting him down as well. Same effect. All around them, the other ships were being attacked in a similar manner. Thanks to Abbendis's leadership, however, the crusaders on the _Sinner's Folly_ were faring well, pushing the few sea giants off the ship and bombarding their longboats with cannons. _

_ When the last one was killed and the longboats retreated, Danthor wiped the water from his blade and asked, "Who were they? They were like nothing I've ever seen."_

_ No one seemed to have an answer. Then, Bishop Street stepped forward and said, "They were the giants of Northrend. The vrykul, they're called. Giant barbarians. I've never seen ones with these kinds of property, however."_

_ "Sea vrykul?" Lethella asked._

_ Street nodded. "It would appear so, yes."_

_ Danthor had heard about the vrykul in one of the books he read. The description was brief and he just assumed they were a myth. But apparently . . ._

_ He looked over towards the port side and saw the _Light's Judgment_ padding silently alongside them, but it was empty. "Look," he said, pointing to the ship. The fog was quickly starting to come back._

_ Abbendis strained to see and said, "They must've captured some of them. An entire ship of them . . . by the Light." She shook her head and ordered, "We need to get some crusaders on that ship as soon as possible. "Captain Hartford, steer us in closer to—"_

_ The high general was cut off when a massive sound pierced the sky. It sounded like it was coming from some primordial horn. The water around the _Light's Judgment_ began to spin around. Before anyone could comprehend what was happening, the ship was brought under by a massive eddying whirlpool. Bits of flotsam and wood flew up, but otherwise the ship was gone. The fog was so thick they could no longer see in front of them._

_ Abbendis began walking back to her chambers. She looked at Street and said, "Make sure we keep in constant communication with the other ships. I won't have us losing any more."_

_ "Understood."_

_ That night, the screams of the captured men could be heard in the distance. It was chilling—more chilling than the biting cold of Northrend. Halfway through the night, the sounds stopped altogether. Danthor shivered. Leading the men in prayer, Bishop Street_

— — —

said as they made landfall, "This truly is the place the Light meant for us to land!"

The rowboats landed on a barren, icy patch of land that was actually pretty big. In the distance, mountains could be seen and there was a dreary-looking beach to the west of them, but the land they had chosen was untouched.

High Abbot Landgren nodded and swept his hand quickly across the snow-covered ground. "I agree. I can feel the Light's presence, even so close to the Lich King's domain. This is the place."

Danthor thought the place looked pretty sorry, actually.

Abbendis took the banner they brought with them. Raising it high, she said, "It all starts here. Here, at the heart of the cancer that calls itself the Scourge, we stand resolute! I hereby name this the city of New Hearthglen!"

Abbendis planted the banner into the ground.

The Scarlet Onslaught had arrived at Northrend.

* * *

><p><em>What awaits them in the frozen north?<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	47. Building and Speculating

There's work to be done! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>47: Building and Speculating<span>**

"Come on, let's keep going; there's still plenty of daylight out!"

Foreman Kaleiki said this as he walked slowly past the line of laborers, currently working on the western wall of New Hearthglen. Most of the laborers didn't hear Kaleiki's bland comments, as they were too busy transporting stone, breaking rocks in the ground with pickaxes to make an even foundation, or hauling the stone pieces onto the wall and making sure it sticks. _"We can have no holes in our defenses,"_ Abbendis had told them. _"We're surrounded on all sides by enemies, so make sure they can't get through."_

Among the laborers was Danthor, Lethella, and Jonas.

It had been three weeks since the Scarlet Onslaught made landfall at the newly-christened base of New Hearthglen, and High General Abbendis acted with haste, immediately setting every able crusader (except for her and a few high-ranking officials like Landgren, of course) to construction immediately. Supplies were taken off the ships, and the first thing that was ordered to be built was a cathedral—the Onslaught Cathedral, it was called. It was finished in five days.

After that, the wall came. With the Frozen Sea at their back, only three sides had to be covered, but it was still long, difficult work. It was made even slower by the fact that the crusaders were split into separate labor groups to build more buildings at the same time. As the wall was being built, a barracks and armory were also being constructed.

The three captains had been assigned to the wall from the beginning, and haven't stopped working since. They awoke at the crack of dawn, got little food and water, and camped out in makeshift tents by the construction zone at night, everyone huddling close to the fire to make sure they didn't freeze. The wind at night was bitter cold—the attitude of the laborers were worse.

Foreman Kaleiki moved slowly with a club gripped in his hand. If anyone got out of line, he was ordered to "correct" them and get them back to work. Kaleiki liked that part of his job the most. "Come on, you lot," he said. "There's no time to idle when there's enemies at our gates. Just over the hill, I can see the construction of another base, and I'm willing to bet they won't be friendly to us."

Kaleiki stopped when he saw them. The three Onslaught captains: Danthor, Jonas, and Lethella, were leaning against the partially-constructed wall with their eyes closed, resting! Danthor was even whistling as the laborers worked around them. The foreman shook his head and moved faster than usual towards them.

"Just what in the name of the Light do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

Danthor stopped whistling and opened one eye. "We're taking a little break, what's it look like? We've been working for hours."

Kaleiki looked incredulous. "What? Get back to work, you dogs! We're not stopping out work until nightfall!"

"Give us ten more minutes," Lethella said nonchalantly. She flashed him a lazy grin. "Surely that won't make much of a difference."

Kaleiki was livid. He moved towards them, his club gripped even tighter in his hand than before. "As the foreman, I order you to get back to work. Right . . . _now_!"

"We only take orders from the high general," Jonas said. "If you've got a problem, take it up with her."

All the laborers stopped working and watched the scene. Kaleiki could feel their eyes on him. It was time to make an example. He couldn't have dissenters in his ranks, not when their life may have depended on it. "Just because you're captains doesn't mean you don't have to work like the rest of us. We're all equal in the construction phase."

"Then why don't you help us lift stones?" Danthor asked. He was starting to stand up.

Confrontation. Now was the time to show them who was boss. "I said _get back to work!_" yelled Kaleiki.

Kaleiki was a burly man, a little bit taller than Danthor. He may have walked slow, but his arm moved fast. Before anyone could blink, his club was raised high over his head, poised to strike. In the same amount of time it took to rise up, it came crashing down. Danthor, however, moved faster. Halfway through the air as it fell, he caught Kaleiki's arm, stopping the strike dead in its tracks.

Before the foreman could react, Danthor brought his head smashing against Kaleiki's. He covered his face and bloodied nose, stifling a cry of pain. Danthor didn't stop, kneeing the foreman in his stomach. Bleeding and winded, Kaleiki's arm dropped and he moved back. He looked up just in time to see Danthor's fist flying towards his face. It hit his bearded cheeks, and the he dropped to the ground, his club falling just out of reach.

Jonas and Lethella were up at this point. Danthor was moving towards Kaleiki at the same leisurely pace he often used when shouting out orders and watching others work. Still, the anger was present on the knight's face. Before he could get within striking distance of the grounded foreman, Jonas showed up behind him and held him back.

"Enough," Lethella said, appearing next to Danthor. "You've made your point, now stop."

Danthor relaxed and Jonas let him go. He spat on the ground near Kaleiki and said, "A fifteen minute break isn't too much to ask for, is it? It might not be much for you, who contributes no work and sleeps in the warm barracks at night, but to all of us, it can mean a lot."

Kaleiki, still gripping his bloodied face, spoke with anger. "You . . . I'll be sure to report you to the high general. I can't wait to see you stripped of your rank and ban—"

"Inform the high general of what?" a voice said behind them. Kaleiki immediately turned around to see a formidable man walking towards them, adorned in golden armor and Judgment spaulders with a two-handed claymore strapped to his back. He had a clean, shaved face with his chin-length brown hair swept back to keep it from falling on his forehead. He had the look of a leader. He smiled. "If it's urgent, I'll be sure to let her know."

"Commander Jordan," Kaleiki said, scrambling to his feet. The blood wasn't dripping nearly as bad as before. He pointed to Danthor and said, "I caught him taking an unauthorized break and when I confronted him, he assaulted me! I think the high general—"

"Has more important things to worry about, Kaleiki," Jordan said. "Now go over to the infirmary and get yourself checked out. I want you back as soon as possible, without such petty thoughts on your mind. Do I make myself clear?"

Kaleiki nodded and left, making sure to pick up his club.

"What are you all looking at? Back to work." Jordan walked towards the three captains as the laborers around them went back to their tedious and tiring task.

"I hope I get a chance to explain myself before you decide to discipline me," Danthor said.

Jordangrinned and shook his head. "I don't care about little things like that. It was just a scuffle—it happens. Besides, just between you and me, I think Kaleiki needed to be put in his place a little."

"Then why are you here?" asked Lethella.

"I was looking for you two, actually," Jordan said. He looked at Jonas and Danthor. "I have a little mission for you."

Jonas arched an eyebrow. "Mission?"

"In case you didn't know," Jordan said, "we recently sent out a battalion of soldiers to the north and east—with the group to the east being led by Scarlet Highlord Daion. It's to establish outposts and get us more prepared for attacks."

Danthor did know that. "So?"

"So," the commander said, "now it's time to expand to the west. Before we send out a battalion of good crusaders, however, we like to send a little expeditionary force out. The high general has elected you two—captains Merrigan and Kurock."

"Now you want to give us a real task?" Jonas asked with a bit of resentment. "What, do you have more than enough people working on the wall now?"

"It's something we decided to do to humble everyone," Jordan said. "To prove that in Northrend, everyone is equal, so everyone got time to help build, even me."

"Not for too long, I bet," Lethella muttered.

Jordan ignored the comment. "Point is, we're sending you out west to scout the immediate area to see where we can set up an outpost."

"Why just us?" asked Danthor. "What about Lethella?"

"We're sending her to help train the crusaders," Jordan said. "She's more valuable here."

"Now wait a minute—" Lethella started.

Danthor cut her off. "No, he's right. The smaller the group, the better. Jonas and I will go and scout the area out." He took his eyes off her to look at Jordan. "What time do you want us gone?"

"By dawn, if possible," he said. "I'll go and let the high general know, and you three can have the rest of the day off." He nodded. "Be happy, you'll be treated like captains again."

As Jordan was walking away, Lethella turned towards Danthor, but before she could speak, he grinned widely at her. "Don't worry, we'll be back before the end of tomorrow."

She closed her mouth. Jonas watched.

— — —

At dawn, they trekked west past the fledging wall. The laborers were just getting up, and already Kaleiki was shouting orders. He looked at the captains, and Danthor shot him a look back. The foreman averted his gaze quickly, looking down and falling silent. Danthor found a small amount of pleasure in that.

By the time the sun was fully up, New Hearthglen was a shadowed. Danthor and Jonas hunkered down in the snow for a break. Danthor rummaged through his pack and pulled out two pieces of bread, handing one to Jonas. He took one bite and it crunched off. He could feel the ice in his teeth. He chewed slowly.

"Nothing but the finest for us, eh?" he asked Jonas.

The paladin took a bite of his and had the same result. He nodded slowly, drawing his cloak up to shield him from the winds. "Can't say I'm surprised at this point—can't build a fire, either."

Danthor shook his head and joylessly finished off his provision. He saw Jonas looking to his back, towards their destination. It wouldn't be too far now, and he'd have to tell him before they decide to come back; it would give them more time to settle the awkwardness on the way back.

He decided the night before that this was the best time to tell Jonas about him and Lethella. They hadn't told anyone, and so far as Danthor knew, nobody still knows. He would have to tell Jonas, though. They couldn't keep the secret forever, and he deserved to know the truth. He licked his chapped lips. Now or never.

"Hey Jonas, there's something I have to tell you . . . about Lethella and I—"

"It shouldn't be too far now," he said quietly, still looking into the distance. He turned back to Danthor and grinned. "Don't go treating me like I know nothing. Anyone plain as day could see it's not too far now."

Danthor smiled and nodded. "Let's get going, then."

They travelled until midmorning when they reached their destination. At first, they saw nothing, then Jonas stopped suddenly and held his arm out, stopping Danthor in his tracks. Danthor was about to ask what that was for, but stopped when he saw what Jonas saw. They were standing on a massive cliff, and not too far below them was a verdant green forest.

_Looks like Lordaeron,_ Danthor thought.

In the middle of the green treetops, there was an opening. A circular wave of light was emanating from it. "Let's go softly," Jonas said. Danthor nodded.

They neared the end of the cliff-face, and everything got clearer. This green patch of land made a rudimentary square and was surrounded by cliff on three sides and facing the sea on the last. The forest inside the area was so thick they couldn't see through it, but Danthor could've sworn he saw bones sticking out the edge. Bones too big for an animal he's seen. It looked almost like the bones of a

_(dragon)_

"By the Light," Jonas said. "What is this place?"

"I don't know," he said. He really didn't. It was like a place out of a dream.

Jonas was about to respond when they heard a piercing shriek from overhead. Jonas dropped to the floor, saying in a hushed whisper, "Down, gods damn you!"

It didn't take Danthor long to follow. Covering his head, he looked up and saw a massive emerald dragon flying overhead. It passed around the area a few times before diving right into the forest, disappearing from sight. The trees rustled and shook for a few seconds, then all was quiet.

Danthor and Jonas just looked at each other for a few seconds, silent.

"Let's get the hell outta here."

* * *

><p><em>Northrend's truly a strange place.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	48. Grand Admiral Barean Westwind

Slow and steady progress . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>48: Grand Admiral Barean Westwind<span>**

Two Onslaught footmen were guarding the entrance to New Hearthglen when he appeared before them.

It was particularly cold that day, with the wind kicking up. Still, the workmen and masons were busy with the wall still nowhere near completion. The barracks, command center, and cathedral had been finished for a few days now, though, so more crusaders were spared from manual labor and put on guard duty. Partly because they weren't needed as much, mostly because the Forsaken base right across the path from New Hearthglen—which they've heard in rumors is called Venomspite—was starting to be constructed.

The two footmen shivered and did their best to stand rigid. Showing any sign of weakness was looked down upon, especially when the fledgling base had to put on a strong front. Footman Mellar was the first to see the man approaching, and alerted his comrade. "Hey, Garris, take a look at this."

Footman Garris squinted against the wind and saw the man as well. He was walking off the main path down their roads, right to the front of the base. He would be upon them soon. "Whaddya make of it?"

"Well, he's human, that's for sure," Mellar responded. "Whether he's friendly or not, that's a different story. You hear the Alliance are building their own base not too far from Venomspite?"

Garris shook his head. He gripped his spear a little tighter. "Better find out his affiliations then."

When the man was close enough, Mellar held his hand out and said, "Stop. State your name and business."

The man was older than both their ages combined, it looked. The top of his head was bald, yet long and fine gray hair fell to his shoulders from the side of his head, creating a scholarly look. His face was hard, however, complimented with a gray beard and moustache. He was dressed in tatters and looked no better than a beggar, yet despite his obvious age, he was only slightly creaky.

He regarded the two footmen with surprise, shaking his head. "To not even recognize a superior . . . what hard times the Crusade has fallen on."

"What was that?" Mellar asked. "We asked you to state your name, old man. Throwing insults is likely to get you killed around here."

The man stood his ground. "Go get your superiors. Abbendis, most preferably, or Landgren—I don't care. Just as long as I don't have to talk to buffoons like you."

Garris had heard enough. Sticking his spear towards the man, he said, "Now listen, old man, you'd better answer our questions or—"

Quick as lightning, the man grabbed Garris's spear, and with a hard tug, pulled him forward. Garris flew helplessly towards the man . . . right into his elbow. Blood exploded from Garris's nose as he recoiled back, crying out in pain and gripping his face with his free hand.

Using his advantage, the man wrenched the spear (quite easily, actually) from Garris's hand and used its butt to smash the footman's stomach. Winded and bleeding, Garris staggered backwards, where he collapsed into the snow, silent except for his bedraggled moans.

Mellar looked at the man in disbelief.

Throwing the spear aside, the man said, "Go tell Abbendis and Landgren that Barean Westwind is here. And bring me a change of clothes, while you're at it. I'm freezing."

"Y-Y-Yes, sir!" Mellar said quickly, turning towards the entrance and rushing towards the cathedral, where both were apt to be.

Garris let out a small moan, and the man only looked at him with disdain. "Shut up."

— — —

Danthor was on his break when he heard the news. In fact, once he heard it, he shook his head and said, "What do you mean?"

"I mean Grand Admiral Westwind is here. He just showed up today," Blacksmith Goodman said. "He's at the cathedral right now."

"Westwind?" Danthor had to say. He'd heard about him extensively in the Crusade's history. "He's supposed to be dead."

Goodman was already leaving the barracks, saying, "Apparently not. Everyone's gathering at the cathedral to see him. I'm gonna go take a look for myself."

After a few seconds of consideration, Danthor followed . . .

The Onslaught Cathedral (as it was called) was pretty crowded when Danthor arrived. He barely made it up the steps and through the door before he ran into people. Everyone was abuzz with conversation, and Danthor managed to squeeze his way through to the main processional. There, he saw Jonas.

"Jonas!" he called out, waving his arms. "Jonas, over here!"

Jonas looked over and saw him, quickly making his way through the crowd to see him. "Hey, you've heard, I'd imagine?"

"Yeah," Danthor said. He craned his neck to look over the massive crowd. "Looks like everyone has. You seen Lethella anywhere?"

Jonas shook his head. He looked towards the altar of the cathedral. He saw Westwind and Landgren and Abbendis up there, all talking. The crusaders kept a respectful distance from the altar, but looked up at the leaders eagerly. "Can you believe he's here?" Jonas asked.

"I can't," Danthor replied. "He was killed off this coast an age ago."

"Apparently not. I'm sure he has an answer for that."

"Let's hope so."

The chatter went on for a few minutes, before Abbendis raised her hand to indicate silence. It came immediately. Clearing her throat, she said, "No doubt we've all heard about what has happened. The Grand Admiral of the Crusade, thought to have been lost years ago, has returned."

"Surely this is a blessing from the Light," Landgren proclaimed. "It has been gracious enough to give us the presence and wisdom of the grand admiral!"

"Yes, well I'm sure you all have questions about this," Abbendis said, "and they will be answered in due time. For now, though, I'm sure the grand admiral would like to—"

"If I may, high general," Westwind said, taking a step forward.

Abbendis looked at him for a second (with a harsh look in her eye, Danthor reckoned), before saying, "Oh, of course."

Westwind nodded and looked at the crusaders. "I've been living in the harsh environment of Northrend for a long time, and seeing so many fine young crusaders warms my heart. I've come to understand the Crusade has fallen on some hard times since my absence, but just know that it was the will of the Light that kept me alive all these years, and I won't rest until the newly formed Onslaught brings down the walls of Icecrown!"

Everyone was silent for a second, letting his powerful voice resonate through the hall. Then, all at once, the crowed erupted with a thunderous applause. Danthor and Jonas were among them. Westwind gave them his best smile

_(and he looked so remarkably young in the light)_

before stepping back. Abbendis took over again and said in her (less powerful) commanding voice, "Alright, that's all! You'll learn more about this later. For now, get back to work! We can't afford to be slacking!"

The crowd began to disperse and Jonas and Danthor were outside, in the biting cold, once again. Danthor's breath formed in front of him as he said, "He certainly has leadership qualities, that's for sure."

Jonas nodded. "Hopefully with him, the Onslaught will only get better, and we really can finish off the Scourge."

Danthor opened his mouth in reply, but closed it when he saw Lethella exiting from the cathedral. He waved at her and said, "Lethella, over here."

The warmage spotted the two and walked over to them. "Hey guys," she said. "I didn't know you were in there."

"Same," Jonas replied. "So what did you think?"

"I dunno," she said, rubbing her arms. "It was quite a shock, hearing the grand admiral was here. I thought he was killed years ago."

"That's what the plaque in Herod's Hall of Champions said," Danthor said. "I read it myself. He was supposedly killed off the Frozen Coast with two other high ranking members. When I heard he was back, I thought they meant as an undead!"

"Yeah . . ." Lethella cast a glance back at the cathedral. She shivered, looking back at the two. "I dunno. I don't know how to put it exactly . . . but something doesn't seem right about him."

"Whaddya mean?" Jonas asked.

"I mean, he gives off a strange vibe. And he looked so _young_. He should practically be ancient if the timeline of his death is correct."

Danthor shrugged. "That doesn't mean anything. I was skeptical at first too, but after seeing him speak, I got a good feeling—like he's going to lead the Onslaught to victory."

Lethella cast one more eye back at the cathedral, where Westwind, Landgren, and Abbendis were no doubt talking. A cold wind kicked up and she shivered once again. "Let's hope so . . ."

— — —

When the days work is done, all the officers of the Onslaught gather at the Crimson Hold (as the new command center is called) to dine together. This includes Danthor, Jonas, and Lethella. Although some of the officers may not get along, Abbendis strictly enforces that they all gather together and talk about what happened in the day—to share important information.

That wasn't going on during this dinner.

During this particular dinner, all eyes were on Barean Westwind (now clad in basic crusade clothes, including an officers tabard), sitting across from Landgren and next to Abbendis (who was at the head of the large dining table). Danthor, Lethella, and Jonas were near the back, but they could hear Westwind's booming voice clear as day.

"So next thing I know, I'm taken prisoner by Hemet Nesingwary—_the_ Hemet Nesingwary," he said, quaffing down his glass of wine. "He thinks I'm some kinda DEHTA spy or something. So I ask him, 'Do I look like someone who doesn't eat a lot of meat?' And he just looks at me and says back, 'You look like someone who hasn't eaten in their entire life!' And I guess it's true enough, I looked as under-fed as one of his lackeys! Judging by his physique, it looks like he's eating everyone else's portions at mealtime!"

Most of the officers burst into laughter over that. All of them except Abbendis, who allowed only a faint smile on her face as she looked down at her half-finished meal. Westwind, however—who looked like he really _hasn't_ eaten anything in days—was taking to his food with a gusto, gobbling down the beef strips they were given and washing it down with the red wine they were served. His table manners could use some work. Danthor didn't care.

They'd learned quite a lot about Westwind as they ate. After the shipwreck, he found himself on the frozen coast of Dragonblight in a daze. He was apparently struck with amnesia, as he didn't remember a thing about the accident when he washed up on shore. Reverting to his most basic instincts, he travelled to the west, to where it was warm. From there, he spent years wandering around the entire continent of Northrend. According to Westwind, he'd seen everything there was to see on the continent, and had met everyone there was to meet, earning the nickname, "The Aimless Walker."

"Then, one day while I was hunting in the Storm Peaks for my dinner," he told them, "the Light had given me an epiphany. I remembered everything immediately. Remembering my purpose, I set back to Dragonblight immediately, hoping to find some evidence of the wreck years later—anything that could help me. Instead, I found New Hearthglen, and here I am!"

The only thing he left out was how he survived the original accident.

Abbendis must've caught this too, as she asked, "A truly interesting story, but tell me, how exactly _did_ you survive the destruction of the fleet that killed Invar One-Arm and Orman of Stromgarde?"

"Only by the good graces of the Light, milady," Westwind said immediately. "In hindsight, it was a foolish venture to try and travel north with our piddling fleet. We weren't ready, and as a result, we had to endure the hardships that lost of two full ships before we even saw Northrend."

He took a drink of his wine before continuing.

"Aye, I remember the day well. It was a particularly cold day, with the clouds gathering overhead. Orman looks at me and said there's a storm coming, asking what we should do—I was the fleet leader, after all. Hoping to avoid the squall, I ordered the ships to move west, more towards the center of the continent instead of our original landing at the Howling Fjord. It was a foolish mistake. We were immediately set upon by large warriors on longboats—they came out of nowhere."

"The vrykul," Bishop Street said. "They attacked us as well."

Westwind nodded. "Only later did I find out they were called the kvaldir. Back then, we just called them the sea-warriors. Well they set upon us, forcing us to try and maneuver around them. Aye, but the fates weren't with us that day, as the storm clouds seemed to follow us, battering our ships. The final straw came when a massive sea beast rose from the depths—'A kraken,' Invar yells. I barely heard him before he sent one of his massive tentacles smashing the ship to pieces. We were scattered every which way, and I managed to land on a piece of flotsam. As the kraken and kvaldir and the storm killed all of my men, I could only watch, dazed, as I floated away towards the Frozen Coast. I thank the Light every day for sparing me, but I'm still haunted by the men's screams."

Everyone was silent when he finished. He sensed this immediately and looked around, a grin starting to spread on his face.

"But why focus on the negatives, I always say!" he said. "Instead, let me tell you about the time I mistook a gnomish engineering base for a vrykul stronghold!"

Abbendis abruptly pushed her chair back, creating an audible scraping sound. Everyone looked at her as she turned to Westwind. "Grand admiral, when you are finished with your meal, I should very much like to speak with you privately in my quarters."

"Of course, milady."

"Good. See you soon."

She walked out of the room. Danthor, Jonas, and Lethella looked at each other silently. The knight saw that same look in Lethella that she gave earlier today, when she was expressing her doubts about the grand admiral.

Westwind didn't seem to let the interruption deter him. "So anyways, I'd been tracking down a pack of vrykul who had robbed me for days, leading me all the way to the Borean Tundra . . ."

* * *

><p><em>A living legend in their presence.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	49. The Raven Priests

In the middle of the night. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>49: The Raven Priests<span>**

High Abbot Landgren was awoken abruptly in the middle of the night.

"High abbot, a thousand apologies for waking you at this hour."

It was Bishop Street's voice. Landgren rubbed his eyes and let a small groan. He sat up in his bed and looked at the man standing over him. "This better be of the utmost importance."

"It is, I assure you," Street said. "The grand admiral wishes for us to get dressed and meet him out in the courtyard immediately."

"At this time?" Landgren glanced out the window and saw that it was snowing. In the distance, the trees rustled. He would have to dress warmly. "Why in the middle of the night?"

Street shrugged. "He came to me and gave me that message. He's probably waiting out there right now. We should hurry."

Landgren rubbed his eyes and got out of bed. He may have been one of the highest ranking men in the Onslaught, but no one said no to the grand admiral. "Alright, give me a minute. I'll meet you outside."

"See you there."

Street left. Landgren sighed . . .

It _was_ cold outside, as the high abbot predicted. There were no men guarding the actual courtyard by the Crimson Hold and the barracks. They were all posted on the weakest points of the still-unfinished (and it looked to be that way for a while) wall. Standing there in perfect attention, modestly dressed and still unflinching as the snow fell all around him, was Westwind. His eyes immediately fixed upon the two spiritual leaders of the Onslaught.

Landgren was the first to speak. "Grand admiral, it's good to see you."

"And you as well."

Street glanced behind himself quickly, then looked back at Westwind. An awkward silence had grown between them. Then, the bishop said, "Not to sound disrespectful, grand admiral, but why exactly are we out—"

Westwind's hand shot out quickly, stopping right in front of Street's face. "Shh! It's best not to talk right now. You'll mess it up."

"Mess what up?" asked Landgren.

Westwind tilted his head back and closed his eyes. After a few seconds, he took in a deep breath and said, "You'll mess up the atmosphere. Everything has to be just right for it to work. Just a few more seconds . . ."

Landgren and Street exchanged glances. Just what exactly was he talking about? The grand admiral wasn't acting his usual self, though he's only been with them for about a month. In that time, he's been relatively easy-going and firm in his command. Under his guidance (though Abbendis has made it explicitly clear to them that _she_ was the one running the show, even though Westwind outranked her) New Hearthglen has been moving ahead of its building schedule. In fact, they only had—

"It's time."

Quick as lightning, Westwind shot out towards both of them, his arms outstretched. Both Landgren and Street gave a startled cry and tried to step back, but Westwind was faster and he caught both men by the head, his hand resting on their foreheads.

"Admiral, what are you—" stammered Street.

The snow was falling even heavier now. Both men tried to step back, but Westwind's grasp was too strong. They heard him chant an indecipherable saying, then noticed his hands started to glow red. A small gasp escaped Landgren. "Don't worry," Westwind said, "I just received a message from the Light and it instructed me to pass it on to you."

At that moment, his eyes shot open, revealing a red glow. From there, his hands gave a final red pulse before fading. Westwind released them and took a steadying step back, touching his forehead lightly and breathing out a sigh. "Whew, that always seems to take it out of me." He looked up at the two men and smiled. "So do you see the Light now too, brothers?"

Landgren and Street took a quick second to look at their hands, then at each other, then to Westwind. Landgren gave a nod. "Yes, it's all so clear to me now. If that's what the Light wishes, then it shall be done! Street and I will begin first thing in the morning!"

Barean Westwind grinned. "Good, good. I look forward to seeing the fruits of your labor." He yawned and stretched. "Now let's be off to bed. It's far too cold for these old bones."

— — —

Danthor stifled a yawn over his bowl of oatmeal. Jonas patted him on the back as he took a seat next to him with his own steaming bowl of oatmeal. "Rough night last night?" he asked.

"I could hardly sleep a wink," Danthor said. "The wind was loud and it was colder than usual." He glanced at Lethella, sitting on the other side of him. "Didn'tcha think?"

She smiled and looked down at her own bowl.

Jonas stretched and scooped some of the food into his mouth. At nights they ate dinner with the other commanding Onslaught officers, but for breakfast they at in the common mess room, although the officers had a table to themselves that the crusaders dared not sit at. The three were sitting there now.

Danthor took a few bites of his food before looking around at the table. He noticed a few people weren't there. "Where's Landgren and Street? The two are never late for breakfast."

"I think I saw them outside," Lethella said. "Looked like they were training the priests."

"So early?" Jonas asked, looking around the mess hall and catching no sight of them. "Something must've really motivated 'em."

"Doesn't surprise me," Danthor said. "With the grand admiral around, they've been getting more and more motivated for the past month, it seems."

"They wish to impress," Lethella suggested.

"Maybe," Danthor said. He looked over and saw Westwind on the other end of the table, talking boisterously with Commander Jordan and Stable Master Mercer. Both Westwind and Mercer let out a raucous , however, just nodded with a faint smile before going back to his food.

After the laughter died down, Westwind looked over to the other side of the table and caught glances with Danthor. They looked at each other for a few seconds before Westwind tipped him a quick wink, going back to Mercer and Jordan to finish his story. Danthor shook his head, shrugged, and went back to his oatmeal. He had a full day ahead of him.

— — —

The snow from the previous night had finally stopped falling, but its effects were still seen on the ground. The hard-packed snow made a crunching noise as Danthor stepped out into the courtyard. He took a deep breath, letting the chilled air into his lungs. Today, he was to help train some of the crusaders. A rather flattering task, he thought, since it wasn't too long ago that he was just walking through the monastery walls for his own training.

The three were going in the same direction, and it was actually Jonas who noticed as they passed through the courtyard. He tugged at Danthor's sleeve. "Look at that."

Danthor glanced to his right to see Bishop Street and High Abbot Landgren standing in front of a group of ten or so priests. They had them split into two rows and each man was walking down one row. Street was carrying a book of prayers, stopping at each priest, muttering something, and granting them a blessing. Danthor couldn't see the other side, but he imagined Landgren was doing the same.

He shrugged at the sight, though. "So?"

"Take a look at the bishop's hand as he's blessing them," he said.

Danthor stared intently as Street moved on to the next priest, muttered something, then raised his hand into the air. From what Danthor could see, instead of the usual white light emanating from a priest's (or paladin's) hand when they give a blessing—a sign that the Light is flowing through them—he saw a dark-colored light.

"That is strange," Danthor said. "I wonder what he's casting."

"Nothing good, that's for sure," Lethella said, having seen it as well. "We should check it out."

"Agreed," Jonas said.

The three walked over to the group, just as Street and Landgren were finishing up with blessing the group. Street saw them first and waved, saying, "Hello, my brothers. Isn't it a beautiful day?"

Danthor looked up at the dreary sky and shrugged. "I preferred the weather back at Lordaeron, personally."

"Don't we all?" he heard Landgren say as he walked and stood next to Street. "And aren't we all fighting for the day where we can return home and live in peace? Isn't that why we're fighting, brothers?"

The ten priests gave a cheer of consensus.

"What's going on here?" Jonas inquired.

Street beamed at him, holding up his prayer book and saying, "It's a most wonderful day, my brothers. For the Light has been kind enough to pass its wisdom onto Grand Admiral Westwind, and he, in turn, was kind enough to tell us all about it. A new day has dawned on the Onslaught, my brothers. Soon, this new power the Light has granted us will sweep over the Scourge and punish them for what they've done!"

"You say it, brother!" a priest yelled.

"Wh . . . what message, exactly?" asked Lethella.

"The message that we can't just rely on the holy powers of the Light anymore," Landgren said. "We've been doing that for years and it's gotten us nowhere. No, the Light has many facets to it; we can't be restrained to one small corner."

Jonas's face darkened. "What are you saying?"

Landgren held his arms out in a gesturing motion. "We must also embrace the darker and more powerful side of the Light. We've come to know these users as shadow priests. In the past, we've looked down on them as being unholy—"

"For good reason!" Jonas said.

"Maybe, maybe not," Landgren continued. "But it's clear that during such difficult times, we have to look for new solutions to solve our problem. The Light has clearly consented to allow us to use such practices, so who are we to judge? I say it's time for a new generation, and what better time to unveil this new fighting force than with the birth of the new Scarlet Onslaught?"

"You say it, brother!" a priest yelled.

"He's right on the mark with that one!"

"What is this new fighting force, exactly?" Danthor asked.

"The Light has spoken clearly on the subject," Street said. "This new force is to be known as the raven priests—those who aren't afraid to go into the shadows to deliver justice!"

The newly-appointed raven priests all broke into applause. "And Westwind was the one who gave you this blessing?" asked Lethella. Danthor could see the growing anger inside of her. He was feeling it too.

"I don't approve," Jonas said softly.

"What was that, brother?" Street asked.

"I said this is wrong!" Jonas exploded. Street and Landgren took a step back. "By using such a dark power, we're becoming our enemies! Don't you see that? High abbot, I beg you to stop this. Let us return to our holy ways and purge the undead with the Holy Light once again."

"What's all this commotion I'm hearing?"

Danthor, Lethella, and Jonas all spun around to see Westwind standing behind them, a languid smile on his face. "Grand admiral, how great to see you," Landgren said with a wide smile on his face. "We're just busy training the new servants of the Light."

"I can see that," Westwind said. "Though from the raised voices, I'd say there's a conflict arising."

"Grand admiral, with all due respect," Jonas said, "I don't believe this is a proper course for us to be taking. We should be becoming more holy in our communication with the Light, not turning to the shadow side. This will bring us nothing good."

Westwind raised an eyebrow. "Are you questioning the wisdom of the Light?"

"Of course not, it's just that—"

"Because the Light has spoken to me very clearly on this subject," Westwind continued.

"And it told you to start training shadow priests?" Danthor asked.

Westwind turned his glare to the knight. Then he nodded. "Yes, it made it clear that it's time to take a new direction to fight the Scourge. Are you saying you don't want to defeat the Scourge?"

"We're saying that the Scarlet Crusade would certainly not stand for training shadow priests as a main fighting force," Lethella said.

"Well we're the Scarlet _Onslaught_ now," Westwind said, "and if we have any hope to defeat the Scourge, or even the Forsaken right across from us"—he pointed to the emerging Forsaken base of Venomspite right across from New Hearthglen—"we need to be realistic and start using different methods."

"It's still wrong!" Jonas said.

Westwind trained his sights on the paladin. "Are you questioning my orders as grand admiral? I don't care what you think, the Light has spoken to me, and I'm faithfully carrying out its orders. Whether you understand it or not is your own business. Now I suggest you get back to your job so Landgren and Street can get back to theirs."

Jonas took a step forward, but Danthor put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," he said quietly, "now's not the time for this. Let's go."

Westwind smiled and turned back to the bishop and high abbot. "You may continue with your training, brothers."

"Why thank you," Landgren said, turning back to the priests. "Did you hear that, my brothers? The Light—who saw it fit to save the grand admiral's life so many years ago—has chosen him personally to deliver its message. Now it's our job to faithfully carry out that message! Are you with us, brothers?"

Danthor, Jonas, and Lethella walked away hearing the sound of ten raven priests cheering.

* * *

><p><em>There's trouble brewing . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	50. Death Knight Debacle

Fast forward a bit . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>50: Death Knight Debacle<span>**

Three months later . . .

"Come on, you dogs! Just a few more weeks at this pace and the wall will be complete! Come on, can'tcha see the Forsaken base just across the road from us? How is it the undead are building faster than us?"

Foreman Kaleiki kept pacing back and forth, looking at the Onslaught laborers, his club well in hand. It's because of his backbreaking pace that the wall was coming up as fast as it was. In fact, it was nearly finished. Still, Kaleiki felt the need to push the restless workers harder, most likely in an attempt to please Abbendis.

"I said keep going; I don't wanna see any slouching!" He moved towards a laborer who was on one knee, regaining his breath. He was on him like a hawk. "What's this? You feeling a little tired?"

"I banged my knee moving some of the masonry," the laborer said, averting his gaze. "I just wanted to see how it looks."

Kaleiki laughed. "Hear that, men? He's banged up his poor little knee, and feels the need to slow down the entire building process by stopping. You know what we do with workers who don't do their jobs, don't you?" He raised his club up, the laborer recoiled.

Kaleiki was about to bring his arm down when he caught the sight of Danthor, Jonas, and Lethella walking towards him from the stables. Danthor clearly saw the foreman and what he was doing and glared at him, slowly shaking his head. Kaleiki let out a small whimper and lowered his club.

He looked down at his feet and said to the laborer, "Just get back to work."

"Yes, sir." The laborer scurried back to his spot.

Kaleiki looked up to see Danthor laughing. The foreman scowled.

"Anyways," Danthor said to his two fellow captains as they walked past the construction, "all I'm saying is that those little rat-people—"

"They're called kobolds," Lethella said.

"Whatever," Danthor said. "All I'm saying is that they're way worse back in Lordaeron."

"There's kobolds in Lordaeron?" Jonas asked.

Danthor nodded. "You'd be surprised just how many there are in Tirisfal. Constantly mining in the mountains or near the coast—I've even heard that some have made an alliance with the murlocs."

"Don't be stupid," Lethella said. "These kobolds in Northrend are much worse than anything I've seen in the Eastern Kingdoms. They're tougher, more intelligent, and they serve the giant horse-men—"

"They're called the magnataur," Jonas said.

"Whatever," Lethella said. "And they serve the _magnataur_, which makes them a much more credible threat."

Jonas shook his head. "I disagree with you both. I grew up in the Elwynn Forest, and I can tell you that the kobolds are the worst race around. They're actually organized, with full-on mining ventures. I mean construction and everything!"

"You're both idiots," Danthor said. "Northern kingdom kobolds are certainly more vicious than southern kingdom kobolds"—he looked at Jonas—"and they're certainly more annoying than Northrend kobolds." He looked at Lethella.

The three had spent half of the day riding out from New Hearthglen to explore the territory around them (not including Venomspite or the Emerald Dragonshine Jonas and Danthor discovered a few months ago). They decided to ride west, avoiding the dragonshine and riding in the general direction of the looming tower they could see in the distance.

As they got closer to the tower, they saw that it was beautifully designed. What was worse was that they also saw dragons and drakes (red this time) constantly flying around near the top of it. Using their better judgment, they avoided the tower as well.

That's when they ran into the kobolds.

The snobolds (as the Northrend kobolds are apt to call themselves) were a minor annoyance at first, hanging around a snow-capped boulder jutting from the ground. Upon seeing the three armored horsemen, they started moving cautiously closer, hoping they had something of value to steal.

"We don't have any fucking candles," Danthor yelled as they got closer, reigning his horse in. It didn't stop them.

Lethella shrugged and drew her sword. "If they're so insistent, let's just kill them."

"Let 'em be," Jonas said. "They're harmless."

Danthor drew his sword, though, causing the snobolds to recoil in fear. "I hate these rat-people. Let's send their tribe a message not to mess with the Onslaught."

Lethella and Danthor were about to dismount when they heard thundering footsteps. This caused the snobolds to cheer in glee, and off in the distance they could see a creature with the body of a giant and the legs of a mammoth (like a bigger centaur) with a large pike in its hand rushing towards them.

Needless to say, they rode out of there fast back to New Hearthglen, where the argument ensued.

"Just let me ask you this," Lethella said as they neared the Crimson Hold. "Have either of you ever run away from a pack of kobolds?"

"No," Jonas said.

"Never," said Danthor.

"Then that settles it," Lethella said. "The Northrend kobolds made you run away, so that makes them the most dangerous of the bunch."

"Only because of those half-giant things," Danthor said.

"Magnataur," reminded Jonas.

"Whatever," the knight said. "Look, you can't count the magnataur in factoring in how dangerous kobolds themselves are. That's like saying a tribe of orcs are dangerous because they befriended some giants to fight with them."

"But that's exactly the point!" Lethella said. "It's because they're friends with the magnataur that they're the most dangerous. We're talking about the kobold tribes _as a whole_, not just on their individual stature."

Danthor shook his head. "You're missing the fundamental point of the argument here. What I'm saying is—" He stopped and looked at who was coming towards them. "Gods, not them . . ."

Three raven priests were going in the other direction. Their group had grown in the past three months, with about half of the Onslaught priests converted to the shadow discipline. They dressed the same, but they were given away by the unending veil of shadow that covered their entire bodies, and the two spectral ravens that flew around them at all time.

The three waved at the captains. "Hello there, brothers and sister. Beautiful day, don'tcha think?"

"Not particularly," Danthor mumbled.

The raven priests just smiled and walked past. Jonas let out a shaky breath. Every time he saw them, he had to focus all his willpower to contain his anger. "Relax," Lethella instructed him. "I know it's angering, but there's nothing we can do about it. Just let it go and ignore them."

"It's hard to when they're using shadow magic right in front of us," Jonas said. "Though I suppose you're right. I still don't know what Landgren and Street were thinking, though."

Danthor shrugged. "They're zealots. They'll believe in anything the Light supposedly told them."

"Yet it was Westwind who passed the message on," Jonas said.

Danthor opened his mouth to respond, but heard a few voices coming from the front gate followed by the galloping of hooves. His head immediately snapped over to the scene to see three heavily armored (in plate, no less) humans with two-handed swords on their back talking to Commander Jordan near the front of New Hearthglen.

"New recruits?" chanced Lethella.

"Maybe," Jonas said. "From the looks of it, they're—"

He stopped. Danthor theorized it was because he saw what he himself just noticed. Taking a quick glance at Lethella, he saw her eyes fixed on the same thing as well, her mouth agape. Running a hand through his hair, Danthor looked back to make sure the three warriors were riding what he thought they were riding. It was—there was no mistaking it.

The three men were riding deathchargers.

On instinct, Lethella was the first to draw her staff, rushing straight for the death knights. A split second later, Danthor and Jonas were on the move, both reaching for their own weapons. _How did they get in?_ Danthor wondered, unsheathing his sword. _And what the hell is Jordan doing, talking to them? Did they cast a spell on him?_

"Commander Jordan, out of the way!" Lethella yelled, skidding to a halt when she was in range. Before Jordan could even turn around, she had a fireball conjured in her free hand and she let it loose.

"No, don't!" Jordan cried.

Too late. The fireball flew on course towards the closest death knight. Before it hit, however, the death knight conjured up an anti-magic field around himself and his three companions. The fireball hit the semi-circular shield and was absorbed immediately. Danthor and Jonas caught up to the warmage at this point, and they all sprinted towards them, intent to do battle.

Commander Jordan came between them, however. "Wait!" he yelled with his arms outstretched. "It's not what you think! Just hold on a moment!"

The three captains skidded to a halt. "What the hell's going on?" demanded Danthor, pointing his sword at the three mounted undead. "Those are _death knights_ you're talking to. Why haven't we attacked them yet?"

"Orders from the top," was what Jordan replied with. "These three men were hired to fight for the Onslaught."

It took a second for all three of them to register this. "What?" cried Lethella. She was so aghast she gripped Jordan by his tabard and said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'd suggest you put the commander down," one of the death knights (the one whom Lethella aimed for) said. He sounded just like them, his voice echoing as he reached for the runeblade strapped to his back. "If you don't, I'll be forced to start fulfilling my contract right now."

Lethella pointed at the death knight and yelled, "Shut the fuck up!" She turned back to Jordan. "What do they mean contract?"

The death knights drew their blades.

"Put me down and I'll tell you," Jordan said. Lethella complied. The commander turned to the death knights and said, "Sheath your weapons; it's all right now."

"Whatever you say, commander," the death knight said, speaking through their saronite-plated helmet adorned with a blue gem right above the head and two tusks protruding from the mouth.

"Please tell us what's happening," Jonas said.

Jordan straightened out his tabard. "Like I said, these men are to be hired to fight for the Onslaught. Orders from the top."

"But they work for the Scourge," Danthor said, as if it was obvious.

"_Used_ to work for the Scourge," the lead death knight said. "That is, until the Lich King saw fit to betray a number of us back in the Eastern Plaguelands. The new organization that formed to get revenge against the Lich King just didn't happen to agree with our ideas. My name's Mattheus, by the way."

Lethella looked at Jordan. "Is what they're saying true?"

Jordan nodded. "The group called the Knights of the Ebon Blade formed some time ago back in Lordaeron. Some stragglers made it to Northrend without them, however, so I guess Abbendis decided to make use of them."

"But they're who we're fighting against," Danthor said. "By the Light, they're _undead_!"

"And pretty damned good with a blade, too," one of death knights behind Mattheus said. His voice was deeper—more gruff, yet still retained that otherworldly quality. "Would you like a demonstration? I'll be more than happy to chop your head off."

"Not if I can do it first, you murdering son of a bitch!" Danthor said, drawing his blade and moving towards him.

The death knight's horse whinnied as he got closer, but Jordan and Mattheus came between them. "Hey, hey!" the commander yelled. "You're not gonna fight them. They're our allies now!"

"Allying with the enemy now, huh?" Lethella added with a scoff. "The Onslaught has fallen to a new low."

"Say that again, little lady, and I'll—" the death knight said, but Mattheus was in front of him and held his arms out to stop him.

"Hey, Brommen, stop it!" Mattheus ordered. "This is not making a great first impression, ya know."

The third death knight laughed. It was a female voice.

Danthor looked at the three with disgust before sheathing his sword and turning around, briskly walking away. "Where are you going?" Jordan asked.

"I'm going to see Abbendis about this!" he yelled back.

Lethella and Jonas quickly followed. Jonas grimaced at the three before turning around, while Lethella spat on the ground in front of them. Jordan turned around to face the three death knights again. He gave them an easy smile.

"Well, I'd say this is the perfect time to get you acquainted with those at the top."

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><p><em>What's the reason behind this?<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	51. Death Knight Debacle 2: Westwind's Game

What was Abbendis thinking? Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>51: Death Knight Debacle 2 – Westwind's Game<span>**

Abbendis was in the command room of the Crimson Hold, sitting down and reading a few documents. Westwind was standing to her side, overlooking the same papers, a look of contemplation furrowed into his brow. They both looked up at the same time when they heard struggling voices from the hall, then saw Danthor burst into the room with two Onslaught crusaders quickly following.

"What the hell is this?" Danthor yelled.

Abbendis and Westwind looked at one of the guards, who caught their gaze and stammered, saying, "M-My deepest apologies grand admiral and high general. He just burst in here, demanding to speak with you. I tried to stop him, but he resisted."

"That's fine," Westwind said. "You two may exit."

The two guards left, Lethella and Jonas entered.

Pushing her papers aside, Abbendis let out a lengthy sigh, rubbing her eyes. "What seems to be the problem, Captain Kurock?"

"Have you hired death knights to fight for us?" he asked.

Abbendis looked at Westwind, who raised an eyebrow in return. Looking back at the three captains, she said, "We have taken a few rogue death knights under our employment, yes. Is there a problem?"

"_Problem_?" asked an incredulous Lethella. "You've only hired the very enemies we're fighting against and allowed them into our base of operations at the Lich King's doorstep, and you can't see the _problem_?"

Abbendis waved the comment away. "They're freelancers, hired blades. They've no allegiance to the Lich King, or the new Knights of the Ebon Blade. They'll follow orders and do the job better than every living crusader here, including you three."

"So the Onslaught really has fallen this low, huh?" Jonas asked. "Just tell me, how much are you paying them to find out all of the inner-workings of New Hearthglen?"

Abbendis slammed her fist down on the table. "It's none of your damned business how much we've hired them for or _why_ we hired them in the first place. Though if you have any better ideas on how to increase our depleted ranks, please be sure to let us know!"

Danthor looked up at Westwind to see the faintest thread of a smile on his face. "It was all your idea, wasn't it?"  
>The grand admiral looked down at him with a look of surprise, saying, "Excuse me, captain?"<p>

"You're the one who suggested the raven priests to Landgren and Street," Danthor said. "Tell me, did the Holy Light whisper for you to let death knights into our ranks as well?"

"That's enough," Abbendis said. "The decision was mine to make."

"Did the Light whisper that to you too, or did you just take the grand admiral's word for it, like Landgren and Street?" Lethella asked.

"I said _enough_!" Abbendis said. "I made the decision based on the reasoning that if we're to survive out here, we'll need to rely on more than what we have. Or would you rather it be just human crusaders who fight against dragons and magnataur?"

"Having humans would be the right way to do it," Jonas said. "It's not right using shadow priests or undead in our ranks."

Abbendis's head shot to focus on the paladin. "I don't care _what_ you think. If you insist on continuing to defy your superiors, I'll have you disciplined. Now get out of my sight!"

There was silence for a moment. Danthor, Lethella, and Jonas looked at each other, then back at Abbendis and Westwind. Abbendis had a look of contempt while Westwind had one of slight amusement. That look told Danthor everything he needed to know: Westwind was the one who suggested it and Abbendis was forced to go along. _It has to be,_ he thought. _Otherwise there's no way someone as devout as her would go along with such a crazy plan. _

He looked at Westwind. Yes, leader only in name and title, he had told her. Maybe she believed him, maybe she didn't. It's clear, regardless, that he's the one pulling the strings. A first-rate puppet master. He did it when telling Landgren and Street to start training shadow priests, and he somehow (but how?) convinced Abbendis to employ death knights to fight for them. It was ludicrous, yet . . .

"Didn't you hear me?" Abbendis asked. "I said get out. We have more important things to deal with than listening to your gripes."

Her anger had cooled, and he could sense the uncertainty in her voice. Yes, she didn't want this, but was forced into it by Westwind. But why? Danthor needed time to think. This wasn't the time to be rocking the boat. "Come on, let's go," he said to his companions.

They both looked at him with unsure eyes. "What?" Lethella said. "Danthor, what are you—"

"Nothing we say will change their mind," the knight explained. "Let's just save ourselves the trouble of getting hurt with no change."

Abbendis smiled. "Finally learning from your mistakes, huh?"

Danthor instinctively touched the scar under his bearded chin. The last wound Abbendis had caused him when he had defied her. Just one of the many scars he'd accumulated while serving under the Crusade. "Let's go," he said.

Jonas gave one last fleeting glance at Abbendis and Westwind before following Danthor towards the door, a look of contempt on his face. It took Lethella a few seconds before she reluctantly followed.

Just as they reached the door, Commander Jordan entered, the three death knights at his back. He looked surprised when seeing them, saying, "Oh, sorry about that. Pardon us."

The three captains stopped and saw the four enter. "Why have you brought them into my chambers, Jordan?" Abbendis's voice was dripping with irritation.

Jordan saluted as the three death knights took off their blue-steeled helmets. "Apologies for the intrusion, high general, but I thought this would be a good time to introduce you to the three death knights who had just joined."

"Very well, introduce yourselves."

"My name is Mattheus." He had matted black hair that covered his forehead. His nose looked misshapen, as if it had been broken and didn't heal itself properly. There was no beard on his youthful face, which was accentuated by his pale skin tone and piercing blue eyes. Still, a smile came easy to his face, revealing his just-slightly-rotting teeth.

"My name is Brommen." He was sporting a shaved brown head that had a few scars near the side and top. He had a brown goatee, which didn't take away noticing his square jaw and rectangular face. His nose was big and his eyes were small. His face sported a few battle scars and his skin was slightly tanner than Mattheus's.

"My name is Lyssa," the third female death knight said. She had shoulder-length, pale-blonde hair that looked as grimy and unwashed as Mattheus's. Her skin tone was the most pale of all, almost a transparent white. She was not beautiful, nor was she ugly, and Danthor was sure her slender physique betrayed her actual strength.

"It should be noted, Mattheus, Brommen, and Lyssa," Abbendis said, looking at each of them in turn, "that the Onslaught doesn't particularly like the presence of the undead around them."

"Yes ma'am, as we've already found out." Mattheus looked at the three captains still standing at the doorway.

Abbendis rested her chin on the back of her hand. "Refer to me as high general, please. Regardless, I just thought we should make it clear that no one in this organization likes you. But just because we don't like you doesn't mean we won't have a use for you or your skills. Quite the contrary, actually. You'll be put the work immediately, and you'll be given the most difficult of assignments because of your power. In return, you shall be given shelter, food and drink, and you shall be tolerated. But expect nothing more than that."

"We've been through situations you couldn't even dream of," Brommen said. "We can handle anything you task us with."

"We're only interested in a chance at revenge against the Lich King," Lyssa added. "If you give us that chance, we'll do anything you ask."

Abbendis smiled. "Yes, but one step at a time. If you do what we ask, we will make our way to Icecrown and kill the Lich King."

"That's all we ask."

Abbendis motioned for the doorway in which Danthor, Lethella, and Jonas were standing. "I just wanted to make sure you knew exactly where you stand. You may take your leave now. Go rest at the barracks and await further orders. And try not to get in any fights."

Mattheus grinned. "We won't start anything, if that's what you mean, _high general_. But we're gonna defend ourselves, if that's what it takes."

To that, there was no response.

The three death knights began to move towards the door when they heard, "Wait just a second, please!"

The voice belonged the Westwind. The three death knights turned around, the three captains looked up at him. Westwind looked at Abbendis for a second before turning back to them.

"I have an idea," he said. "And bear with me, if you'd please, high general, but what do you think of sending these six up north to further establish ourselves?"

"What?" Abbendis said. It was what everyone in the room was thinking.

Westwind wasn't fazed. "With Kaleiki finishing up the wall, there's very little more we can do for New Hearthglen. The next logical step, then, would be to expand our operations throughout Dragonblight. After all, have we not already sent Scarlet Highlord Daion east to establish a base camp?"

"We did." Abbendis's voice was a bit unsure. "I also recall that the group we sent north to establish a camp seems to have disappeared completely."

"Aye, and they're most likely dead, but they were a dreadfully small group as it was, and they certainly didn't have any strong death knights with them." Westwind grinned wolfishly at her. "I propose we send these six—with other crusaders and supplies, of course—up north to properly establish another base of operations. Maybe we could even find out what happened to our previous northbound group. What better way to make use of our powerful new allies?"

"You can't be serious," Danthor said.

Westwind ignored him. So did Abbendis. She asked, "Where would we send them?"

Looking to the map of Northrend right behind her desk, Westwind said, "The same place as before." He pointed to a spot just below the mountains in northeastern Dragonblight. The map indicated a cavern entrance. "Up as north as we can go."

"Are you mad?" Lethella asked. "There's a reason we've already lost a scouting group up there. We'd be out in the middle of nowhere, isolated from everything!"

"Then there's no better time to try and capitalize up there, don't you think?" Westwind asked. "We know almost nothing of the north, and there's no doubt that it'll be a difficult trip. Still, if anyone is up to the task of conquering such a strategic point, it would be all of you."

"Save your flattery," Jonas said. "What good would setting up a base all the way up there serve?"

Westwind looked at him like it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. "Why, to expand, of course. It gives us another perspective of our landscape, and the cave that's supposed to be there would give us a stronger foothold in the region. We'd have already set up a base west if the dragons didn't already have that land monopolized."

Danthor looked at Abbendis. "You can't seriously be considering this, can you?"

Abbendis was silent, a look of serious concentration on her face.

Westwind pointed to the three death knights. "And what do our three newest recruits think of this?"

Brommen shrugged. "I'd like a chance to go and kill some of the creatures that undoubtedly occupy the area."

"Sounds like fun to me," Lyssa said.

Looking at his two companions, Mattheus smiled and said, "I don't see a problem with it. It's a good way to cut our teeth with our new organization."

The grand admiral looked back at the high general. "Well, what do you say, Abbendis? There's no better time than now to start our expansion into Icecrown."

_That's a lie,_ Danthor thought, but dared not to say it.

"Who am I to question an order from the grand admiral?" Abbendis said. A look of resignation was in her eyes and voice. "If it's what you think is the best course of action, Westwind, then I agree with you."

"It is," Westwind said.

Abbendis nodded, then looked at the six in front of her. "Very well. You six shall travel north and establish a base of operations known as the Scarlet Point. Captains Kurock, Borman, and Merrigan shall be in charge of the expedition." She looked at the death knights. "That means you listen to what they say and protect them."

"Of course, high general," Mattheus said.

Looking at the three captains. "You'll be given command of twenty men, including Courier Bronson, and be given enough supplies. Once you've cleared the area, send Bronson back, and we'll return with supplies to begin our construction."

_Yeah, but it'll probably take longer than when you returned to reinforce Garren's Haunt and the Agamand Mills,_ Danthor thought, and shivered. There would be cold nights ahead of them.

"You'll leave at sunrise," Abbendis said. "Now get out of my sight."

Lethella swore under her breath. Danthor sympathized with her, but orders were orders. Besides, leaving New Hearthglen would give him the time he needed to cool his head and assess what Westwind's game was. By the time he returned to the base, he'd have him completely figured out.

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><p><em>A new mission!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	52. Earning Respect

An unlikely group on a mission. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>52: Earning Respect<span>**

"We're gonna have to go by the dragon's tower."

Mattheus looked back at Jonas. None of the men were given horses for this journey, with Westwind saying they couldn't spare any (_They're all needed near the base right now,_ he told them), and although Mattheus, Brommen, and Lyssa could've summoned their deathchargers, they didn't. That didn't mean Mattheus responded to the statement with kindness.

"It's called the Wyrmrest Temple," he said. "It's where all the emissaries from the five dragonflights have gathered to deal with the Lich King. Rumor has it that the dragonqueen herself is there." He smiled.

"Well if that's the case," Danthor said, moving up next to Mattheus, "then I'd like to keep as much distance between us and that tower as possible."

"As you wish."

They had twenty men for the expedition, all good crusaders they were told. While Danthor, Jonas, and Lethella were in command of the expedition, the three death knights were their official guides. They'd been in Northrend for a long time, or so they had said. It was midday and they'd managed to travel past Venomspite without detection (which in itself was quite a task) and stopped at the base of the mountains to the east of them before Danthor ordered a rest. In the distance was Wyrmrest Temple.

Lethella sat silently near the edge of camp, right by Crusaders Mellar and Garris, who were assigned to the expedition. Danthor sat with her for a bit, but moved when he heard Jonas make his comment about the dragon's tower. He didn't want to cause rumors about them to the unsuspecting crusaders (or death knights, for that matter). It was time to get moving anyways.

"Come on, we're burnin' sunlight," he said. He looked at Mattheus. "I trust you'll show us a path that doesn't involve getting close to dragons?"

"Leave it to me, chief," Mattheus said, standing up.

They travelled for a bit, not moving at a particularly fast pace. The troops really did have few supplies with them, certainly nothing to start building a base with. They were the calm before the storm, so to speak, sent to make sure the entire base was clear before sending a few scouts back south and waiting until the supplies come in. The whole thing was idiotic.

It wasn't particularly cold that day, but Danthor found that just by standing near Mattheus and the other two death knights made him _feel_ colder. They seemed to exhume continual coldness. "So why'd you decide to join the Onslaught anyways?" Danthor found himself asking.

Mattheus looked at him for a brief second before grinning and looking up ahead. "You think I'm not allowed to join?" he asked. "I was a human before the Scourge killed me, ya know."

"True enough," Danthor said, "though it's not like the Crusade is known for its tolerance for anything different than a living human."

"Not true," Lyssa said. "You once had a few elves and dwarves in your midst."

Danthor shrugged. "Maybe in years past, but you're avoiding the question. Why did you decide to join the Onslaught?"

"We had nowhere else to go," Brommen said. "After the Lich King betrayed us at the Battle of Light's Hope Chapel, we couldn't go back. We became wanderers."

"What Brommen means to say," Mattheus said, "is that the three of us have been friends since we were resurrected and trained under Instructor Razuvious. The Lich King's betrayal hurt us all, and we quickly joined the Knights of the Ebon Blade and were sent to the Northrend division. We didn't much agree with what Lord-Commander Arete thought, so we split and have been wandering Northrend ever since."

"Quite a story," Danthor said. "So you saw the Onslaught as your last hope?"

"All that matters is revenge," Mattheus said. He looked at Danthor and smiled a bit. "We're not that different, really. The three of us can't kill the Lich King alone, so we've decided to lend our talents to the next best organization that can."

In the back they could hear Lethella scoff.

Mattheus looked back for a second before turning to Danthor. "I can understand that you feel uncomfortable around us," he said, "but we don't appreciate the distrustful glares you're all giving us. We don't ask for acceptance, but we do ask for respect."

Danthor looked to Lethella. "Around here," he said, training his eyes back forward, "people get respect when they earn it. Don't expect to get it so easily from a group of humans who've lost everything because of your former master."

Brommen grunted.

"I suppose that's fair," Mattheus said. "As long as we can work together, that's enough. We don't need your approval in order to kill the Lich King. All we need is—"

Suddenly, Lyssa whistled. Mattheus immediately snapped to attention, looking over at her. Without any words, she pointed to in front of them, near the mountains.

"What is it?" Danthor asked. He couldn't see that far ahead.

Brommen took off his helmet and covered the top of his eyes with his gauntleted hand. "There's a group of snobolds gathering near the base of the mountain. I can't hear what they're saying, but they certainly notice us."

Danthor's hand trailed to the hilt of his blade. He moved back towards Jonas and Lethella, asking, "What do you think?"

"A scouting group, definitely," Lethella said. "They sound too small to be any kind of attack. They'll be on us soon enough to take our supplies."

The group silently padded on for a second.

"Whatcha want us to do, chief?" Mattheus called from up ahead.

"We keep moving," Danthor said, "but keep on alert."

In the background, he could hear Mellar say to Garris, "We'll be walking into an ambush . . ."

Maybe so, but what could he do? He couldn't just stop the group—that would cause even more suspicion. As commander, he had to make sure they got to their destination as soon as possible, but he also had to make sure they got there alive. Either way, he didn't intend on letting a group of snobolds get the better of more than a score of crusaders.

"Form up," Danthor said, moving towards the front. "Jonas, take control of the middle, Lethella move to the back. If the shit hits the fan, you're in command of the crusaders around you. I'll be up here with the death knights."

Danthor expected Lethella to protest, but she didn't. They moved to their positions, all the crusaders on alert, their hands on their weapons just in case. "Good thinkin' chief," Mattheus said with a smile.

"Stop calling me that."

The next few minutes were tense. The crusaders kept at their pace, eyes constantly scanning to the right of them—towards the mountains. The snobolds were notorious thieves in the area, but they wouldn't get the better of them. Wyrmrest Temple was a silhouette behind them when they—

A noise!

Danthor's head shot to his right and he saw them. At least thirty snobolds pouring out of a small cluster of caves burrowed into the mountainside. Drawing his shield and sword, he yelled, "To arms, crusaders! Push them back!"

Everyone drew their weapons as the snobolds let loose a guttural battle cry, their homemade stone weapons gripped in their paws. Mattheus, Lyssa, and Brommen all drew their weapons and were the first to rush towards them, Danthor following behind them. Before he could even raise his sword to strike, Brommen held his arm out towards one of the snobolds, and ice around him sprung up from the snow and chained him there, motionless. He decapitated the hapless creature with one swipe of his runeblade.

Lyssa stopped in the middle of a group of snobolds as the ground around her turned green and the snow began to rot. The snobolds in the circle immediately collapsed on the ground, coughing and sneezing as if taken suddenly with a horrible disease. In fact, they were, but Lyssa made sure it was her blade that killed them—not what she used to poison them. Laughing a bit while doing so, she moved on to the next group.

Mattheus surrounded himself with a shield of whirling bones. Whenever the snobolds tried to strike him, they would hit only his barrier. Smiling under his saronite-plated helmet, he set off immediately to attacking the creatures around him with his red-tinted runeblade. He struck a snobold in the heart, releasing a torrent of blood from his body. As more snobolds moved towards him, Mattheus flicked the blood from his blade onto them. They shrieked and dropped to the ground, the blood working like acid and melting their faces and bodies.

Even before Danthor killed his first snobold it was clear who the victor was. The Onslaught set upon them like a tidal wave, sweeping through their rudimentary line and eviscerating all in their path. By the time the last crusader hit the battlefield (Garris, actually, swinging his spear at the nearest creature), the fight was almost done. Within three minutes of engagement, all the snobolds were either dead or retreating. The crusaders lost no one.

Danthor breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the last remaining snobolds scramble away into the mountain path. There wasn't anything to worry about after all. He counted the bodies of about twenty-five snobolds. He looked at Jonas and Lethella and smiled. Mattheus strode up next to him and nudged him with his elbow. "Not too bad, eh? Let's loot 'em and see what they got."

"Be my guest," Danthor said. He was about to turn to Lethella and say something when he heard a shattering roar from above.

Every crusader looked upwards towards the hills of the mountainside. On it, they saw three magnataurs—creatures who were half giants and half mammoth—glaring down at them, massive pikes gripped in each of their meaty hands and a yelling group of snobolds holding onto their back.

"Oh you've gotta be fucking kidding me," he heard Lethella say.

The magnataur gave one more roar before charging down the mountain path, their hooves sounding like thunderclaps. "Spread out, quickly!" Danthor screamed. "Don't bunch up for them to kill you in one blow!"

His orders were heard by most, but a few were too shocked to see such a sight that they didn't heed his warning. The magnataur were on them before they could move away, one of them smashing away three crusaders with an easy swing of his pike.

"Archers and magic-users, fire!" Lethella yelled, summoning two fireballs and throwing them towards one of the magnataur. She hit two snobolds and send them barreling off their backs. The giants didn't mind. The three magnataur spread out to destroy the group in one sweep.

Chaos ensued as the crusaders ran to all sections of the compass. A few brave ones stood in one position long enough to fire a crossbow bolt or shoot a spell, but most were constantly on the move as the magnataur gave chase. Desperate, Danthor moved towards the closest one, yelling to Jonas, "Get 'em outta here! We don't stand a chance, we have to retreat!"

"Don't be a damned fool!" Jonas yelled back. "We can't outrun them. We have to stand our ground and fight!"

"Then I'll see you in the afterlife, Light willing!"

Letting loose a primal scream, Danthor rushed straight towards a magnataur that had his back turned to him. With his sword pointed forward, he jammed it into the giant's woolen leg. The blade pierced through and blood spurted out, some of which hit Danthor, and he was rewarded with a satisfying cry of pain.

It didn't last long, however, as the magnataur spun around and swung his meaty hand (not the one with the spear, thank the Light—if it was, he'd be dead) straight at Danthor. The back of his hand struck the knight dead on and sent him flying, sword still gripped in his hand. He landed several feet away, dazed and unable to move. _Looks like the snobolds are the most dangerous,_ he thought disjointedly, and wanted to laugh—if only it didn't hurt so much.

He stared up at the rather beautiful midday sky, hearing the footsteps of the magnataur coming closer, ready to accept the end. Then he heard a horn blare through the crisp air. Danthor's half-closed eyes shot open at once as he heard the trotting of horses. The horn blared again.

_The horn of winter,_ he thought with a half-smile.

Now fully mounted on their deathchargers, Mattheus, Brommen, and Lyssa rode past the fleeing crusaders towards the magnataur, their runeblades drawn. _"DEATH AND DESTRUCTION!"_ roared Mattheus.

The three moved swiftly, all focusing on a single giant. Brommen swung by first, swinging his two-handed blade at the magnataur's leg, splitting a section of it open to reveal a pool of red. Before the magnataur could retaliate, he was moving away on his horse. Lyssa moved next, summoning the same green swamp of pestilence from underneath. The beast was stricken immediately and began to wobble. Several snobolds on his back fell off.

Mattheus moved for the kill, riding under the magnataur (strangely unaffected by Lyssa's pestilence spell) with his runeblade raised high. While completely underneath him, he thrust the sword into the beast's stomach. The sharpened blade met some resistance, but ultimately did its work as Mattheus rode on, rending the creature and leaving his guts to spill out behind the death knight.

The other two magnataur (including the one coming to kill Danthor) saw their comrade fall and moved towards the three death knights immediately. They rode in a synchronized unison to meet their challenge. Mattheus was in the lead when he looked back at Brommen and Lyssa, pointing to the magnataur on his right and saying, "That one's mine! Take care of the other one!"

They nodded and the riders split. The blood-drenched Mattheus rode fearlessly, his blade held firmly in his hand. Danthor was sitting up at this point, watching in complete awe. All the other crusaders were doing the same.

Just as the magnataur raised up his pike to skewer the death knight, Mattheus, empowered by the presence of blood, leapt from his deathcharger and barreled towards the giant. Before the magnataur could react, Mattheus had his blade plunged into his chest, right where his heart is. The magnataur roared in pain and went onto its hind legs as blood spurted from Mattheus's heart strike.

Leaping back to the ground, Mattheus surveyed his work with a smile. It only took a few seconds for the magnataur to fall to his side, the snobolds scattering as soon as they hit the ground. They heard a similar roar and looked to see that Brommen and Lyssa had taken care of their target as well.

All at once, the crusaders cheered! There were three dead and one wounded (Courier Bronson, actually, who had, for all intents and purposes, seemed to had forgiven Danthor for stealing his horse that day at the King's Harbor) from the attack, but they lived through it, and thanks to the death knights, they had killed three magnataur in the process. Danthor shook his head in amazement as he saw his men mulling about to pick up their scattered things.

Mattheus was the first to approach him, most of the blood that covered him drying and his runeblade sheathed. The same cold still emanated from his entire body, but he gave a warm smile as he held his hand out in front of Danthor.

"Did that earn your respect, chief?" he asked.

Danthor couldn't help but laugh. Nodding, he gripped Mattheus's hand and was pulled up. "Yeah, I'd say it did."

They arrived at their destination in two days time after that with no further incident.

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><p><em>What awaits at the cave?<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	53. The Frostmourne Cavern

They reach their destination. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>53: The Frostmourne Cavern<span>**

The cave was situated on a rocky plateau, nestled right against the mountains of northern Dragonblight. To the east of them was more wasteland, but in the distance a giant set of stairs could be seen that led into the troll lands of Zul'Drak. To the west of them was an icy canyon cutting right through an ancient path (some say created by the Titans themselves) that led into the warmer lands of the Crystalsong Forest.

Danthor wished he was there right now. Alas, he was stuck in the frigid north and he had a job to do. They set camp as soon as they got there. It was nearing night and there was not much they could do. The twenty-three crusaders huddled around the fire and ate their meager rations, the wind beginning to kick up.

"We'll take the first watch," Mattheus announced when the question was asked. He, Brommen, and Lyssa, and a few other crusaders (Mellar and Garris included) under the command of Jonas put on their warmest clothes and set watch at the most important positions: to the west, in case one of the giant worms of legend from the Crystal Vice should slither out; to the south, in case the magnataur and snobolds got a bit bolder, to the east, in case a tribe of trolls should stumble upon them; and most importantly to the north, just in case whatever resides in the cave should come out to see what all the noise was.

The next morning, Courier Bronson (whose broken arm from the magnataur fight was hanging in a sling) and five of the healthiest crusaders were sent away immediately with the orders to inform Abbendis and Westwind of their success and to have them return with a battalion of crusaders and builders so the Scarlet Point could be built in earnest. They spent the rest of the day securing their camp and doing a little investigating around the area to make sure they were safe.

But they didn't explore the cave. That was for the next day.

They left seven men to guard the campsite, leaving Danthor, Jonas, Lethella, Mattheus, Brommen, Lyssa, and four crusaders to explore the cave. They were fully armed, just in case. It was the morning when Danthor looked at them and asked, "Are you ready?"

"Let's do it," Mattheus said.

With a nod, Danthor stepped foot into the mouth of the cavern. The cave itself had a wide opening with frost and icicles covering the top. There was a large rock partially obscuring the entrance, leaving enough room for three crusaders standing shoulder-to-shoulder to enter at the same time. Danthor and Mattheus entered first, followed by Lethella and Brommen, then Jonas and Lyssa. Crusaders Garris and Mellar went in next, with two large, burly crusaders taking up the rear.

It took a few moments for Danthor's eyes to try and readjust to the dark cave, but once he could see a bit clearer he looked around. The cavern was as big as the entrance indicated, with a high, gray-colored roof and walls contrasting the snow-covered ground. On both sides of the group were rocky, crystallized outcroppings. It stretched back farther than Danthor could see, partially because his vision wasn't completely adjusted and the back of the cave was shrouded in shadow.

Still, there were no signs of enemies around, which counted for something. Taking a cautious step forward, he said to the group forming behind him, "Stay in formation. We don't know what's in here."

The crystals gave off a translucent green glow, which immediately attracted everyone's attention. The crusaders moved towards it, with Lethella stepping forward and laying a hand on one of the large crystals. "What do you think it is?" she asked.

"It's saronite," they heard Brommen say behind them.

Danthor and Lethella immediately shot around. "What?" he asked.

"It's saronite," Lyssa said. "Well, to be more specific, crystallized saronite. The Lich King used to send geists into caverns like this all the time to make armor for his death knights." She pointed to the plate armor she was wearing.

"How do you turn crystal into armor?" Jonas asked.

Mattheus ran a hand across the crystal. "We mined for ores of saronite, not crystals. We can't much use it like this. Still, it looks like this cavern is fulla the mineable stuff." He motioned to a translucent green rock jutting out near the entrance of the cavern.

"I don't like the vibe it gives off," Danthor said, staring into the crystal.

Mattheus laughed. "As you shouldn't. It's probably not very healthy to be by for long periods of time. At least in this form, anyways."

"Let's keep moving then," Crusader Garris suggested, tapping the butt of his spear on the ground nervously.

Danthor nodded. "The sooner we explore the cave, the sooner we never have to see these crystals again. Let the masons and builders Abbendis sends us deal with it."

They moved towards the back and tried to stay away from the walls, which was lined with saronite—crystallized or mineable. Still, Danthor kept finding himself looking back at it before quickly looking away, rubbing his temples. He was starting to get a throbbing headache.

They still couldn't see the back of the cave, but the entrance gave off a pale light in the distance. They could tell they were getting close. They had encountered no threats so far, which made everyone a little bolder. Mattheus even started whistling a tune as they moved through. When he abruptly stopped and stood his ground, along with Brommen and Lyssa, this caught everyone's attention.

"What is it?" Jonas asked.

"Something's off," Brommen said. Lyssa nodded.

Danthor's head throbbed. He closed his eyes in an attempt to get suppress the pain, but all it did

_("behold Muradin, our salvation . . .")_

was make him feel worse. Shaking his head, he turned around to look and the death knights and asked, "What is it exactly that you fe—"

A loud whooshing sound assaulted his eardrums. It felt like the wind when it was blowing at your back, except many times more powerful. The sound was nearly deafening. So loud he could barely hear Lethella yell, _"Behind you! Look out!"_

Danthor turned around to see a blue, swirling mass of air loosely held together by fragments of blue-green saronite plate that seemed to hold its form together. In its gauntleted fist was a crude-looking axe covered in sharp points that stuck out menacingly, even as the weapon curled into itself to form a swirling pattern. Danthor registered this in a fraction of a second, all while thinking, _Oh gods, it's a deathbringer!_

Then the air-elemented revenant rose its saronite axe and brought it crashing down. Danthor did all he could to bring his shield out and block the blow, the force of it making his hand go numb and sending him barreling back into the group. When he looked up, he saw two other identical-looking elementals standing next to the one that struck him.

Jonas and Lethella drew their weapons at the same time. The paladin pointed to their enemies and shouted to the crusaders, "To arms! Attack!"

Everyone drew their weapons immediately and let out a battle cry, rushing forward. Danthor had to help himself up, and when he was fully on his feet he saw his men fully engaged with the air elementals. He shook his head. His headache was getting worse.

Still, he drew his sword and yelled, "For the Onslaught!" before rushing forward to join his friends.

He went for the middle one, the one that nearly killed him. He thrust his sword through the armor scraps of its arms and into the air forming inside of it, but the strike did nothing. The revenant moved his arm and raised his axe, attempting to bring it down on Danthor's skull. He side-stepped the strike, though, and slashed through the revenant's neck, once again doing nothing.

The sound of wind grew only more intense as the elementals smashed through their enemies. Crusader Mellar went to strike the one on the right with his sword, but instead got slashed across his shoulder with the revenant's weapon. He cried out in pain and recoiled as Brommen pushed him aside to engage.

Jonas and Lethella weren't doing much better. Lethella unleashed her spells on the elemental, but it only passed through air or hit his strong armor. They were drawn out to a stalemate of dodging the revenant's attacks and trying their own, which only ended in vain.

Danthor was caught up in the fights going around him that he barely noticed the revenant in front of him going for an undercut with his axe. It would've struck, too, had Mattheus not gone between them and tackled Danthor to the ground, getting cut in his unarmored neck in the process. It was merely a nick, but the blood dripped onto Danthor's tabard, creating little crimson roses on the white section of it.

"Idiot!" Mattheus cursed. "Do you know nothing about the elements?"

Without waiting for an answer, the death knight stood up, drew his runeblade, and—before the revenant could launch another attack—shoved it through the elemental's chest. The blade pierced through what would be a human's heart, although to the swirling mass of air, it went through a concentration of blue. The attack seemed to work, as the revenant gave off a high-pierced shriek before dropping its axe and disappearing into nothing, its saronite armor clattering to the ground unceremoniously.

"Attack its core, you fools!" Mattheus roared as he wrenched his runeblade free.

Brommen and Lyssa seemed to already know this, as Brommen quickly dispatched of his opponent and Lyssa pushed Jonas and Lethella aside to finish the deed quickly as well. With that, there was no more threat.

A sense of calm came over the group as Danthor let himself up, sheathing his sword. He looked at Mattheus, Brommen, and Lyssa and said, "That's the second time you've saved our asses. Thank you."

Mattheus shrugged it off. "Just doing what we were ordered to do by the high general. No need to thank us, chief."

"You have it nonetheless."

_("there's a description on the dais. it's a warning . . .")_

Danthor grunted and gripped the side of his head. Lethella was about to ask what it was before she did the same thing, letting out a little cry of pain. In fact, every crusader in that cavern did something similar.

"We have to see . . . what's in the back," Danthor managed to say, staggering forward. "We're almost there . . ."

Indeed they were. Within a few more feet of where they fought the elementals, they saw a small mount of snow, at the center of it a stone altar. The same green light that came off the saronite was coming from it, swirling in an upward spiral. "By the Light, what is that?" Jonas asked.

No one bothered with a response. As they trudged forward, Danthor could feel his headache getting worse. Looking around, he saw that everyone (including the death knights) was feeling the same thing. As they started to ascend the snow slope, Danthor could see a discarded one-handed hammer and axe, and a two-handed warhammer that had the symbol of the Alliance lion upon it.

Before he could turn around and say anything, Danthor's peripheral vision began to turn dark as his headache, which was throbbing uncontrollably just a second ago, seemed to relax. Breathing a sigh of relief, he saw two ghostly figures appear in front of him, staring at the altar, which now had a blade floating over it. A blade that looked eerily like

— — —

_our salvation, Frostmourne."_

_ The dwarf with an orange beard fashioned into two drooping moustaches and a single long braid that went down to his waist looked up at the human, as if surprised by what he just said. He had a light-green colored helmet with two horns protruding from the side and wore light mail armor. In both his meaty hands were gripped a one-handed hammer and a one-handed axe._

_ The dwarf shook the comment off and moved closer to the ice-covered altar, kneeling. "Hold, lad," he said. "There's an inscription on the dais. It's a warning. It says: 'Whomsoever takes up this blade shall wield power eternal. Just as the blade rends flesh, so must power scar the spirit.' Oh, I should've known . . . The blade is cursed. Let's get the hell out of here, Arthas!"_

_ Arthas Menethil, with his blonde hair and handsome face that gave off a look of burning intensity, shook his head as the dwarf backed away from the altar. "No, Muradin. I would gladly bear any curse to save Lordaeron."_

_ The dwarf, Muradin Bronzebeard, looked up at the prince with pleading eyes. "Leave it be, Arthas. Forget this business and lead your men home."_

_ Arthas took a step towards the altar, staring at the floating runeblade, Frostmourne. He never took his eyes off of it. "Damn the men! Nothing shall prevent me from having my revenge, old friend. Not even you."_

_ He raised his hand into the air as a blue aura began to gather in it. The wind kicked up around the two as the cavern itself seemed to shake._

_ "Now, I call out to the spirits of this place!" he yelled. "I will give anything or pay any price, if only you will help me save my people!"_

_ The ice surrounding the altar shattered. A shard of it flew and struck Muradin in the chest. He cried out in pain, dropping his two weapons, and fell face-first into the snow. Arthas didn't even notice. Frostmourne was free, and he intended to have it. He cast aside his warhammer, took a step forward, and gripped the hilt of the blade._

_ He stood there motionless for several seconds, staring off in the distance. Then, shaking his head, he stepped past Muradin and then stopped. Smiling, he tilted his head back and let out a monstrous roar. The sound had the same quality of a death knight's voice. The cave reverberated the sound for a few seconds, then it was silent again._

_ Still smiling, Arthas Menethil ran out of the cavern._

* * *

><p>Catching a glimpse of the Lich King's past . . .<p>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	54. Escape the Frostmourne Cavern

After witnessing Arthas's dark rise . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>54: Escape the Frostmourne Cavern<span>**

They all shot back to reality like a thunderbolt.

The return was so jarring that Danthor dropped to his knees, panting heavily. After a few seconds, he looked around and saw everyone reacting with the same, dazed look on their faces. Jonas was the first to speak. "Did everyone else see that?"

Slowly, the crusaders in the cavern nodded. "This isn't just any cave, is it?" Crusader Garris asked.

"No." Danthor looked to his left to see the three weapons frozen to the ground. A one-handed axe and hammer, and an Alliance warhammer. Light knows how long they'd been there, but drawing upon his knowledge of history, Danthor could've guessed. "This is the cave where Arthas claimed the runeblade Frostmourne."

"And became the world's greatest death knight," Mattheus added.

Running a hand through his hair, Danthor noticed that his headache was gone. Tentatively, he stood up and looked at some of the saronite crystals jutting from the cave walls. They lost some of their shimmering quality. "Something doesn't want us here . . ." he said.

"The hell are you talking about?" asked Brommen brusquely.

Lethella and Jonas looked at Danthor, and their faces seemed to reinforce his thoughts on the subject. "We're getting out of here," he said. "We never should've come to begin with."

"From here on, the Frostmourne Cavern will be off-limits," Jonas said, motioning towards the faint light that was the exit. "Now let's get out of this unholy place before we—"

The ground gave a brief rumble, cutting the paladin off. Silence for a second, as the crusaders looked at one another, holding their breath. A second rumble then, this time a little stronger. Some of the icicles on the wall fell and landed onto the snow with a soft thud.

"Now is a good time to go," Lethella said.

"I agree." Danthor took out his shield, just in case, and pointed to the exit with his free hand. "We're getting out of this place _now_. Let's move!"

Going down from the altar, another rumble hit the cave, shaking everything and throwing everyone off-balance. They moved about ten feet away from the hill where Frostmourne once lay before a meaty hand shot up from the ground and gripping Garris's leg. He looked down in horror to see the rotting flesh of a ghoul. _"AAAAAAAAAAAAH!"_

Everyone stopped and looked at the crusader, seeing him bat at the ghoul with his spear, but the undead simply refused to let go. All around him, more ghouls started to rise. Frozen in place, another rumble shook Danthor out of it. He drew his sword and said, "Hold on! We'll get you out!"

As he and a few others started to move, however, more pairs of hands shot out of the ground between them—more ghouls rising from the earth. "Shit!" Lethella cursed, blasting one's head with a fireball and drawing her sword. It did little good, as more ghouls started to rise from the earth, surrounding them.

One crusader gave a cry of fear before breaking away from the group, sprinting towards the exit. He didn't get far. Stopping him were three giant, undead men, their greasy and long beards matted to their face. They too rose from the ground, each with a different fierce weapon in their hands: a claymore, a two-handed axe, and a polearm. Before the crusader could move away, the undead giant with the claymore lopped his head off in one strike. The other two gave off an unearthly battle cry.

"Undead vrykul," Jonas said. "They won't be easy to get through."

Mattheus had his runeblade drawn as the ghouls and a few scattering vrykul (more and more were popping out from the ground) began to surround them. "In life, the vrykul thought the Lich King as a death god. In death, these giants are still more than happy to serve."

"The Lich King knows we're here?" Lyssa asked.

"It doesn't matter," Danthor said. "We're busting our way through. For the Onslaught!"

He moved quickly, charging a ghoul and running it through with his sword, while using his shield to bash the skull in of an undead next to him. Everyone else followed, rushing forward and attacking in a desperate bid to break through and get out of Frostmourne Cavern.

The group bunched together and looked forward at the exit that seemed so far away. Their goal was clear, but standing in their way was dozens of undead, not to mention a sizeable number of enemies forming behind them. Crusader Mellar hacked and slashed with Danthor in hopes of saving the immobile Garris, who was beset on all sides by enemies and still screaming wildly, swinging his spear in an attempt to ward the undead off.

It didn't work, and Crusader Garris was eventually overwhelmed and brought down by the innumerable ghouls. All screaming stopped.

Mellar couldn't believe what he saw, as he still attempted to break through the heavy line of undead, yelling, _"NO! YOU BASTARDS!"_

Danthor grabbed him by the back of his tabard and sharply yanked him away. Mellar almost stumbled back, but kept his footing, staring at the captain incredulously. "He's gone now, and we're facing the wrong way," Danthor said to him, turning him around to where most of the group was fighting. "Time to get out ourselves."

Not bothering to wait for a response, Danthor pushed Mellar in front of him before quickly turning around, cutting down a ghoul rushing to attack, and running to meet with the rest of the group. They weren't faring much better, barely gaining any ground—they were simply blocked by too many undead.

_By the Light, how many are there?_ Danthor thought as he moved through to the front of the pack (led by Lethella and Mattheus) and started attacking any undead he saw. He was feeling sick to his stomach. "Form up!" he yelled.

The group formed a tight-knit circle, shoulder-to-shoulder like they'd been taught at the Scarlet Monastery not too long ago. There, they were able to fend off the enemies on all sides rather effectively as they slowly but surely advanced towards the entrance of the cave, towards freedom.

That is, it worked well until the vrykul got in on the battle.

For the most part, the undead giants were content to stand back and let the witless ghouls take the front line to soften the crusaders up. After seeing that they'd formed an effective strategy of fending the Scourge off, they seemed to agree that it was time to move in themselves. At once, they all let loose a battle cry and charged with their weapons raised, knocking several ghouls aside as they moved.

They came from all sides, but they were most concentrated from the back. For the most part, with a few well-placed spells and attacks, the vrykul in front and to the sides of them were fended off (albeit the crusaders were getting more and more strained to keep up such a tight defense). In the back, however, they came thundering in and swept through effectively and mercilessly.

The crusader guarding the back barely had time to register a scream before he was run through with a vrykul's rusted spear. The giant hefted his corpse up and tossed him aside with a grunt of disgust. He set his sights on the next target, who happened to be Crusader Mellar.

Unlike the other crusader, however, Mellar saw him coming and registered a scream of fear, attempting to back away. The vrykul, with one sideways swipe from the butt of his spear, was able to knock the crusader back. Showing off his rotted teeth in a twisted grin, the vrykul strode forward to finish him off.

The defensive circle had broken off, and Jonas Merrigan—with a rallying cry to the Light—swept in from the side and leapt up just before the giant could finish Mellar off. Before the vrykul could register what happened, his head was smashed with Jonas's heavy mace. The undead staggered for a few seconds before dropping to the floor.

Jonas hit the floor with a heavy thud but got back up quickly. Turning to Mellar, he offered a hand and smiled, saying, "Come on, the group's still moving. We've gotta go now."

As if to emphasize this point, Danthor saw what had happened and yelled, "Come on, we can't stay in one place for too long! Hurry the hell up and—_JONAS LOOK OUT!_"

The words registered in Jonas's mind only after he saw the fear showing through Mellar's eyes as he looked at what was behind the paladin—that and the giant shadow overcasting the two. He had only a fraction of a second to register this and Danthor's warning before a claymore was shoved through his back and came out clear on the other side.

Jonas's eyes widened as blood immediately started flowing from his mouth. Mellar, silent with fear, ran towards the group just as Danthor broke away to run towards the paladin. The vrykul behind Jonas wrenched his sword free, leaving him to drop to his knees and, as he was beginning to fall, maneuver himself so he could fall on his back and look upon his enemy.

"Sonuva bitch . . ." Jonas coughed, holding his free arm out (as his mace fell from his fingers as soon as he was stabbed) as it glowed with the Light. "Be purged!"

Danthor came to the paladin's aid just as a judgment of the Light hit the vrykul across the face, sending him reeling backwards and falling over. That didn't stop the undead from continuing to advance, however. Danthor didn't care; he knelt down next to his friend as blood began to pool around his limp body.

"Jonas!" Danthor cried, looking at his wound. "Don't worry, I'll help you up and we'll get outta here. You just need to heal yourself a little to staunch the bleeding so we can—"

"Don't be stupid," Jonas wheezed. "I know I'm done, and you gotta get out of here. No sense in both of us dying."

"No, I won't—"

_"LEAVE NOW!"_

The force of Jonas's command left Danthor speechless for a moment, just as a vrykul stood over him and raised up his battleaxe. Fortunately, Mattheus rushed forward and nearly cleaved the giant in half with his runeblade. As blood showered his saronite armor, he looked at Danthor and said, "It's time you left."

"It's Jonas!" Danthor said. "He needs help!"

Lethella managed to break away from the fighting long enough to kneel down next to Danthor and Jonas.

"Don't be stupid," Mattheus said. "Look, he's already dead."

Danthor looked and saw that indeed, Jonas had stopped moving or breathing. His lifeless eyes were staring up at the cavern ceiling. Almost as if in disbelief, Danthor looked up at Lethella and saw the resigned expression on her face as she slowly nodded, confirming it.

"Then we need to—" Danthor started.

"_You_ _two_ need to get out of here," Mattheus said as he continued to slash at ghouls coming closer. "But you need someone to make sure the Scourge don't follow you. Lucky for you, you've got three masters of death and destruction to cause the perfect distraction for you."

Lethella stood up and cast a fireball to kill a ghoul that was sneaking up on Mattheus. "Don't be stupid," she said. "We can make it together."

"That'll never happen," she heard Brommen say behind her. Both captains turned around and saw Brommen, Lyssa, and Mellar there—what remained of their group—still fighting off the Scourge attack, which was slacking off a little bit as they got closer to the exit. "You guys need someone to clear a path to the exit, and we're the only three who can do it effectively."

Danthor looked up at Mattheus, who looked back at him with a smile. "Hey, don't give us that look. It's not like we're planning on dying here." Not even waiting for a response, he looked to Lyssa and Brommen and said, "Lyssa, you and I will cover the back. Brom, would you be kind enough to lead these three through to our camp? We'll catch up with you in a bit."

Brommen nodded, gripping Danthor firmly by the shoulder and hoisting him up, saying, "Come on, you heard him. We're leaving."

Danthor let himself be led, giving one last fleeting look at Jonas before looking at Mattheus. "Thank you."

"I'm just doing what I was ordered: protecting you." Turning around, he and Lyssa faced the enemies coming upon them. "See ya soon, chief."

With an unearthly roar, the two death knights charged fearlessly into the fray. They cut through the ghouls on the frontline before they were completely surrounded, and Danthor, Lethella, Brommen, and Mellar lost all sight of them. "Come on," the remaining death knight urged, taking the lead with his runeblade in hand.

They were near the exit at this point, and the promise of light shined through even brighter as they kept moving. There weren't as many undead between them and their escape—most of the remaining Scourge forces were coming from behind them. Still, Brommen led the charge, his aura growing colder and colder. So cold that ice formed where he ran. Holding his free arm out, a powerful wave of ice shot from it, showering shards upon the ghouls (and the rare vrykul), slaying many and clearing a path for them.

Danthor harnessed his rage and slashed through everyone in his reach. Lethella and Mellar harnessed the same fury, obliterating everyone in their path. _"FOR THE ONSLAUGHT!"_ Danthor yelled, not aware that he was crying as he said it.

— — —

The seven crusaders left to guard the encampment did nothing for the hour the group led by Danthor, Lethella, and Jonas explored the cave. In fact, fearing the unknown, most of them stayed as far away from the cavern as possible. As a result, it was a great surprise to them when they saw Brommen, Danthor, Mellar, and Lethella burst out of the cave sweating, panting, and bloodied.

A few wayward ghouls came out of the cavern (and were quickly dispatched by Brommen), but most cautiously retreated and moved back into the reassuring darkness of the cavern. That fact still didn't stop Danthor, Lethella, and Mellar from scrambling towards the seven confused crusaders and pointing to the path that led away from the plateau they were camped on.

"We're leaving now!" Danthor yelled, almost hysterically. "Grab the supplies you need and get moving, quick!"

A crusader chanced a question. "Captain, what happened in the ca—"

_"I SAID GET FUCKING MOVING! NOW!"_

The crusaders got the picture and they moved almost immediately . . .

It was midmorning when the eleven remaining crusaders marched away. Danthor only stopped for a break when night was beginning to fall, and even then not for long. "We don't have time to waste," Danthor told them. "We need to get back to New Hearthglen immediately!" He refused to speak to the seven crusaders about what happened in the cave. They knew to keep their mouths shut and not ask.

The moon was high in the sky and the crusaders still didn't get a real break aside from the quick five minutes of downtime to drink from their water skins. It was under the bright moon that they heard the sound of a horse coming towards them.

The rider of the horse was none other than Courier Bronson, flanked on both sides by ten crusaders, each armed with a rifle in their hands and a blade at their sides. In the distance, a caravan could be heard. Their reinforcements had arrived.

"Bronson," Lethella said, taking a step forward, "thank the Light you're here. Listen, we need to—"

She stopped dead in her tracks when the twenty crusaders on both sides of Bronson raised their rifles up at her. "Quiet," Bronson said. She did as he said.

"What the hell is this?" Danthor asked.

"You too," Bronson said. He looked from Danthor to Lethella to Brommen. "Under command of High General Abbendis, you three are to be placed under our custody."

"What?" yelled Lethella.

Brommen grunted and reached for the hilt of his runeblade. One of the crusaders fired a warning shot just at his feet to stop him. "If any of you make another move," Bronson announced, "and we'll blow your head off."

Danthor shook his head. "What are the charges?"

Bronson's horse whinnied a bit. "You're charged by the high command for aiding the Forsaken. Now relinquish your weapons to us."

"Are you serious?"

Bronson ignored Lethella's comment. "We're ordered to bring you three back to New Hearthglen to be sentenced by the high command. The crusaders under your command will not be harmed. Now relinquish your weapons."

Instead, Danthor took a step forward, saying, "Now listen for just a se—_UGH_!"

Stunned, Danthor dropped to the ground. Behind him was Crusader Mellar, who had struck him in the back of the head with the hilt of his blade. Following his lead, the seven other crusaders surrounded Lethella and Brommen. They were trapped.

"Take their weapons," Bronson commanded to the crusaders at his side. "But don't hurt them. They'll hear the Light's judgment back at New Hearthglen."

* * *

><p><em>What's going on?<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	55. The Split

Why are they being arrested? Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>55: The Split<span>**

New Hearthglen looked a bit more completed than when they'd left, but entering through the white stone walls tied up, Danthor couldn't help but feel the oppressive attitude of the fortress. The sky was overcast that hinted at potential rain, yet the wind was still.

Danthor, Lethella, and Brommen had their hands bound behind their backs tightly with a piece of heavy rope. Their legs weren't tied, but that was because they were surrounded on all sides with crusaders armed to the teeth, and it was safe to assume that, without their weapons, none of them would be able to escape. Still, as they walked down the main road towards the cathedral, everyone human in sight stopped and just looked at them.

Danthor wanted to close his eyes and look away, but forced himself to keep looking at the hardened stares of his "comrades." _This is the truth you'd been trying to say doesn't exist,_ he told himself. _Well, here it all is, and there's no way to persuade yourself that this organization is anything but corrupt._

On their long march back to New Hearthglen, any attempt to ask further questions about their detainment was met with silence or a quick blow to shut them up. All they knew was that they were charged with aiding the Forsaken—from Venomspite, no doubt. One thing became abundantly clear over their harsh day of travel: the Onslaught no longer considered them captains, but prisoners, no higher than a common thief. That fact hurt Danthor the most. For all the effort he'd put into the organization, to be rewarded with this? He hoped to the gods Abbendis had a good reason for this.

Bronson showed them to the foot of the cathedral steps, where Bishop Street, flanked by several raven priests, stood. With a nod, he said, "Thank you, Brother Bronson. We can take it from here."

"As you wish," Bronson said. He took out a bag full of the captive's supplies. "Here are their weapons."

A few of the raven priests took the varied objects, and Bronson and the guards left Danthor, Lethella, and Brommen in the hands of Bishop Street. He took his chapeau off for a second, showing his combed brown hair. He favored them with a sad smile. "I'm truly sorry for this turn of events, but there's not much that can be done."

"Then spare us your false pleasantries and take us to people who _can_ do something about this," Lethella spat.

Street lost his smile and put his chapeau back on. His raven priests surrounded the three of them. "Very well, this way please."

The cathedral looked the same as ever, save for the fact that no one except High General Brigitte Abbendis and Grand Admiral Barean Westwind was inside. They were standing by the altar, conversing pleasantly enough, but both immediately looked down the processional when they heard the group's footsteps. "Ah," Westwind said, "very good. Bring them forward, if you'd please, Bishop."

Brommen, Lethella, and Danthor were forced to their knees on the steps of the altar. The raven priests laid their weapons on the altar and dispersed to both sides of the room to stand guard. Bishop Street guarded the door.

Though their hands were tied, Danthor was able to grab Lethella's hand and grip it tight.

"I'd imagine you three are a bit confused as to why you're here," Westwind said.

Danthor tried a weak smile. "Just a bit. Mind enlightening us?"

"You'd have to be up to speed on exactly what's been going on around here, first," Westwind said, matching his smile. "Regarding the Forsaken, at least. Mind filling them in, high general?"

Abbendis nodded. She had a resigned look on her face. "Since you've been gone, the Forsaken troops of Venomspite have been getting more bold against us. We've caught four spies hiding in our ranks, and have lost several good crusaders through a series of guerilla-like attacks. Including people like Commander Jordan and High Abbot Landgren."

"That would explain his absence here, then," Lethella said. "What does that have to do with us? We've been gone while all this has been happening."

"Ah," Westwind said, taking over, "and you don't think it strange that the_ second_ you and these death knights leave, we're overrun with attacks by the Forsaken? That the _minute_ these three death knights enter our ranks, the undead get more bold in their movements?"

"Stranger things have happened," Danthor said. "It's called a coincidence."

"And that's where we differ," Westwind continued. "In my experience, coincidences don't exist—the Light doesn't allow it. It is no coincidence, though, that the Light whispered me that the three death knights—Brommen, Lyssa, and . . . what was the last one?"

"Mattheus," Danthor said.

"Mattheus, right. It's no coincidence that as soon as those three death knights left on that little expedition, the Light whispered to me that some more high-ranking spies have indeed infiltrated our midst and recruited those death knights to help them." He looked at Danthor. "Abbendis told me that you joined under the story that the Forsaken destroyed your home and killed your family."

"You're a fucking liar!" cursed Lethella.

"I can vouch for him," Bishop Street said from behind them. "The Light did indeed speak to this man and gave him such a message."

Westwind ignored both of their comments and continued. "Bronson had also informed us that you three were caught running _away_ from the Scarlet Point build site. Now why would you want to do that? Surely not to try and run away from the Onslaught, hmm?"

"We left because you sent us to a death trap!" Danthor said. "The cave you sent us to was crawling with undead—it was where Arthas first picked up Frostmourne and became the Lich King's death knight! We lost Mattheus, Lyssa, and Jonas in that attack!"

"You _are_ short several men," Abbendis said thoughtfully.

Westwind shook his head. "Don't believe such lies, high general. Trickery is a part of a traitor and undead's very nature." He started walking down the steps, looking at Brommen. "I knew something was up with you and your 'friends' when you first stepped into our command room, but I sent you away against my better judgment. I thought I left you in the command of trustworthy men. Obviously that's not the case."

Lethella gave Danthor's hand two quick squeezes. They looked at each other and nodded. The signal they'd talked about late last night while they camped. It was clear _that_ was their only option.

Westwind kept moving until he was directly behind Brommen. "You've been silent this whole time. Tell me, undead, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Brommen opened his mouth. "We—"

Quick as a flash, Westwind forced Brommen's head back and drew his rapier. In another fraction of a second, his blade slid across the death knight's throat, spilling his blood. Brommen gave a small—and exceedingly _human_—gurgling sound before dropping to the ground, his eyes glazing over as blood pooled around him. Lethella stifled a gasp as Danthor closed his eyes and looked away.

Westwind wiped his blade and sheathed it, looking at Brommen's body with disgust. "As if I'd believe anything that came out of an undead's mouth."

"You son of a bitch!"

Westwind turned towards Danthor and Lethella as he began to walk up the stairs again. "Now what to do with you two . . ."

Yes, now was the time. Giving her hand a quick squeeze, Danthor and Lethella looked into each other's eyes and kissed. It lasted but a brief second, and when they pulled away, Danthor said, "I love you."

"I love you too."

Then it began. Using the spell fire blast, Lethella turned her free hand upwards towards her bonds and set it alight. The rope easily gave way to the forceful burst of fire, and her hands were free (albeit burned from the attack). Before anyone could react, she used the same spell to free Danthor. Not bothering to waste any time speaking, the knight immediately took off up the altar stairs, heading for the weapons.

That's when Abbendis moved, drawing her shield and fiery-enchanted axe, raising it up and heading straight for Danthor. Just before she raised up her weapon to strike, she saw the fireball heading straight for her and raised her shield up to block it. She spared a second to give Lethella one hate-filled glance.

That second was enough, as Danthor grabbed the weapons off of the altar and threw the enchanted sword to the warmage, yelling, "Lethella!"

Lethella caught the weapon deftly and brandished it at Westwind, who smirked. He looked at the raven priests and Bishop Street, saying, "Deal with it."

All at once, the shadow priests moved in on Lethella, who summoned a fireball in her free hand and threw it, hitting a raven priest dead-on in the face. He fell and never got back up. Only eight more, including Street. Lethella grinned wolfishly—she liked those odds!

Just as Danthor strapped on his shield and grabbed his sword, he caught a blur flying towards his side. Before he could turn his head, Abbendis's shield smashed into the side of his face, sending him tumbling down the stairs. As he tried to stand up, Abbendis was already over him, kicking him in his chest with her steel boots. She tried to deal a second kick, but Danthor blocked it and lashed out with his sword, forcing the high general back. This gave him time to stand up.

"It didn't have to come to this," Abbendis said. "But you were always too damn rebellious."

"I'd prefer doing things this way than waiting for Westwind to execute me. But before we get busy killing each other, I have to know: Is this how you really imagined the Onslaught would become? With you being nothing more than Westwind's puppet?"

"I did what's necessary for the Onslaught to succeed in Northrend."

Back up near the altar, Westwind saw the two and shouted, "Don't fail me, Abbendis!"

That was answer enough for Danthor. Still, he said to her, "I seem to remember that during our first meeting—or should I say interrogation—in that desolate cell, that you didn't restrain me because you could easily kill me."

"I remember."

"Well then, what say we test that theory?"

Abbendis skillfully twirled her one-handed axe. "Sounds good to me."

They charged at each other, their shields draw and their weapons raised. Abbendis went first, raising her axe up and bringing it down with blinding speed. Danthor managed to block it with his shield and counter with a sweeping strike. Abbendis nimbly leapt back and thrust her shield at him, hoping to bash his chest. Danthor side-stepped the attack and nicked her arm with his sword. Surprised, Abbendis moved to the offensive and charged even closer, swinging her axe at Danthor's neck. He ducked to avoid the strike, but as he moved back up, Abbendis's shield caught him square under the chin.

Stars exploded as Danthor stumbled back. Abbendis kept the momentum going, swinging her axe and slicing Danthor's leg, sending him to one knee. As he was down, she brought her axe up and intended to bury it into his skull. Just as it came crashing down, Danthor rolled out of the way and worked his way to Abbendis's side, slashing her exposed ribcage. Abbendis snarled in rage and shot around, swinging her axe yet again.

Danthor parried the blow and brought his shield forward to smash against her. She matched him, shield-for-shield, and the impact sent shockwaves up both fighter's arms. So much so that both took a step to retreat. Danthor took that brief moment to see how Lethella was faring, and saw her with a mana shield raised around her and the corpses of three raven priests at her feet, simultaneously slashing and casting spells at her remaining four foes (including Street, who was cautiously wading back as his men took the frontline).

That was all he was able to see, though, as Abbendis moved again, the fury showing in her eyes. She struck once, only to be blocked by Danthor, reeled back and struck again, to the same effect, and then struck a third time in rapid succession. Danthor managed to block that one, but barely. He lashed out by swinging his own blade, which she blocked with her own similar-looking shield, and their dance of death continued for several more moves.

Then, Danthor responded a second too late, and as a result, Abbendis's axe found itself buried in his left shoulder. Danthor roared in pain, but gritted his teeth and grabbed Abbendis's outstretched arm with his left hand, digging in to make sure she couldn't let go. Abbendis saw the determination in his eyes, and maybe that unnerved her a bit, but she didn't poise to move as Danthor brought his sword slashing across her chest.

Her tabard ripped in two and blood sprayed out like a fountain, catching Danthor in the chest and face. Letting go of her arm, Abbendis staggered back, desperately gripping at her chest. She made no sound, but her breathing got heavier as blood poured from her mouth. The bun in her hair began to become undone, and loose tendrils of hair hung down in front of her face. Still, that fierceness was in her eyes.

She took a glance back at Westwind's hardened features before turning to her enemy. Spitting out some blood, she saw the panting Danthor and said, "That's enough! Now I'll show you the real power of the Onslaught!"

Not too far away, Danthor could hear Bishop Street give a blood-curdling scream. He wished Abbendis would do that; it would make him feel more encouraged. Still, he picked his stance and prepared himself as Abbendis rushed towards Danthor again, her shield in front of her and her axe poised to kill. Danthor rushed towards her as well, and they clashed in the middle.

Abbendis went first, sending the bottom of her shield down on Danthor's head, creating a gash in his scalp and sending blood pouring down his face. Despite the throbbing pain, Danthor held his ground and focused on what really mattered: her axe. She sent it swinging towards Danthor's neck again in an attempt to decapitate him on the spot. At a pivotal moment, Danthor shifted his weight and turned his upper-body, and instead hitting his neck, Abbendis's axe buried itself vertically into his chest, above his right pectoral.

This time, Danthor didn't hold it in and let out a howl of pain. Taking a step back, he wrenched his body backwards with such force that Abbendis lost the grip of her axe and it fell to the floor. Faster than Abbendis could scramble to get it, Danthor kicked it away. Knowing she had no weapon, Abbendis focused on using her shield and charged Danthor once again, raising it up high for another downward strike . . . and exposing her chest.

Danthor felt no mercy as his blade entered her body and pierced her heart. He pushed until the blade was at its hilt and stared at Abbendis's widened eyes. Her shield fell from her nerveless hands and clattered to the floor. "This is what your duty to Westwind gets you," he said to her. "If only you didn't listen to him, you could have—"

Abbendis responded by using the last of her strength to head-butt Danthor in the face, bloodying his nose and sending him reeling back as he gripped his head. He kept his sword gripped as he backed away and it slid easily out of Abbendis's body. By the time he could see again, she was on the floor, dead.

More by survival instinct and pain than force of will, Danthor fell to one knee in pain, touching the ground to balance himself and breathing heavily. He looked up and saw Lethella had dealt with all the raven priests and had managed to decapitate Bishop Street. At the moment Danthor saw her, she was rushing towards Westwind with her sword raised.

Before she could bring it crashing down, Westwind held his hand up and a golden bubble surrounded his body. The sword bounced harmlessly off of it. Westwind laughed as Lethella tried a fireball, but that too did nothing. _No way . . ._ Danthor thought, rising again as Westwind started to advance, forcing Lethella to step back.

Lethella tried three successive sword strikes, but to no avail. "It won't do any good," he told her, drawing his rapier. "Best to accept the inevitable fact that you can't kill me."

"Like hell I will!" Lethella spat, moving again.

Danthor started to run towards them. He stopped when he saw the bubble disappear for a fraction of a second—long enough for him to run his sword through Lethella's chest. _"NO!"_ Danthor yelled. "No, no, no, no, no!"

He picked up his speed, but it was already too late. Lethella dropped her sword and Westwind cast the bubble over himself again. He was untouchable and Lethella was dying. The warmage managed to turn her head and give Danthor one last look, mouthing something incomprehensible to him, before crumpling to the floor.

_No, not again!_ Danthor thought feverishly, remembering his mother and Kayla. _This can't be happening again!_

Before he could even ascend the stairs, Westwind was in front of him, the bubble disappearing long enough for him to kick Danthor square in his chest and send him reeling backwards. Bloodied and dazed, Danthor tried desperately to grope for his sword on the ground next to him, but when he touched the hilt, Westwind's foot came crashing down on his wrist. He cried in pain as the grand admiral drew his blade. Holding it to Danthor's throat, he looked over at Abbendis's body.

"You've served your purpose," he said to her. He turned back to Danthor. "As for you . . ."

He paused when he heard the sound of explosions, yelling, and steel clashing against steel outside. Danthor's sharp hearing picked up what he thought of as Gutterspeak. Westwind must've heard it too, as he swore under his breath, sheathed his sword, and said, "Damned Forsaken attack . . . now is _not_ the time."

He looked back at Danthor and stepped away. The cathedral rumbled and dust fell from the rafters.

"They're coming for me here, and I don't have time to mess around with you," Westwind said, stepping away and casting the bubble on himself again. "I'll see you again in Icecrown, weakling . . . if you live that long. I'd wager that the Forsaken capture and torture you, though. Either way, you'll only receive death."

On those words, he teleported himself away, leaving Danthor in a cathedral full of corpses.

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><p><em>An absolute loss . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	56. Crusading No More

New Hearthglen is under attack! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>56: Crusading No More<span>**

More shouts and explosions rang outside as soon as Grand Admiral Barean Westwind teleported out of the ill-fated New Hearthglen. Danthor did his best block the cries of fighting and death from the outside.

He had more than enough to deal with _inside_ the cathedral.

He summoned what remaining strength he had to get back onto his feet. His vision took a second to adjust and he felt a little woozy, but he had his composure soon enough and went running towards where Lethella Borman lied.

He kneeled down and rolled her onto her back, completely ignoring the welling blood underneath her that was staining his clothes. "Lethella, Lethella! Talk to me, please!"

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, and a faint smile was present on her blood-stained lips. "Hi Danthor . . . it doesn't look too good, does it?"

Danthor looked down to inspect the wound. Westwind's rapier had pierced into her armor and clean through her heart. Blood was pumping out of the wound in rhythmic spurts, and he had no first aid equipment (or power over the Holy Light, for that matter) that could help her. Deep down in his mind, he knew it wouldn't have mattered even if he did.

"Don't worry about it; you look fine. I'm gonna get you outta here to see a medic, and this time it'll be you lying in a hospital bed instead of me."

She feebly raised her hand up into the air, and Danthor grasped it. "Oh Danthor," she said with that same lingering smile, "you're such a bad liar. I know I'm through and it's okay. I'm just glad you're safe . . ."

Tears were stinging his eyes. All the memories were flooding back to him. The sounds of fighting were intensifying outside. "No, you're not through—not yet, anyways. We're gonna get outta here and you'll recover and we'll track down that bastard Westwind for what he did to you and—" His tears were falling from his face onto Lethella as he got choked up and stopped.

She put her other hand up and lightly touched his face. "Relax . . ." she said, barely above a whisper. "You worry too much . . ."

Her smile slowly faded and her eyes closed for good. "No!" Danthor cried, refusing to let go of her hand. "No, you can't leave me like this! Not with Jonas and Balean and everyone else gone, _you_ can't leave—I won't let you!"

But she was already gone and Danthor was alone. Breaking down, he fell onto his hands and knees and openly wept. He slammed his fist against the ground and cursed the Light for letting something like this happen to him! The Light had the good graces to see him alive, but saw fit to take everything he loved away from him! It wasn't fair, it wasn't—

Another explosion that shook the cathedral snapped Danthor out of it. He couldn't stay here, and the Scarlet Onslaught no longer had a home for him. He'd have to leave, and now! He looked over at Lethella's body. "But I'm not leaving you here, that's for sure," he told her.

Danthor ripped off what remained of his Onslaught tabard and sheathed his sword, but left his shield lying where it was. Picking up Lethella bridal style, he set out to escape from New Hearthglen and leave the Onslaught for good.

He exited the cathedral and entered into pure chaos. All around him, the Forsaken troops of Venomspite were doing battle with crusaders. The wall that took Foreman Kaleiki so long to create was peppered with holes made by the undead's siege weapons that continued to pummel the battlefield. Bodies from both sides littered the ground. Luckily, no one seemed to notice the knight as he descended the stairs and set out to the east. This all seemed strangely familiar to Danthor. Then he let out a little chuckle, thinking, _Are you watching over me in death, Balean?_

He moved as quickly as his body would allow him, weaving through fights and dodging shells launched by the siege weapons. He kept his eye on the prize—a small opening in the wall that would take him to the main road, where he could move east and escape. In the distance, he heard a pained whinny. Danthor looked behind himself to see Courier Bronson surrounded on all sides by Forsaken troops. Although he didn't want to admit it, he felt a certain morbid satisfaction when he saw the courier go down under all of those undead.

Surprisingly, he made it to the hole untouched. The sounds of steel clashing against steel still rang clear in his head, and the smell of gunpowder coated the air around him, but the battling crusaders and Forsaken seemed willing to let a lone knight carrying a body through the battlefield without paying him any notice. They had much more imminent threats to deal with, after all.

He moved through the wall and trotted up the hill and onto the main road that ran parallel to both New Hearthglen and Venomspite. Luckily, he was already passed the Forsaken base and escaped their notice. He couldn't say what made him want to move east, only that it was a powerful feeling he couldn't ignore. For how long he walked across that road, he did not know. What he did remember was that the snow was falling heavily at this point and fatigue was taking its toll.

When at last he could no longer move, he moved to the side of the road and dropped to his knees. Gently, he laid Lethella down before collapsing into the cold snow himself. His last thoughts were that this is how he would die.

— — —

_And he swam through darkness._

_ His mind was a jumble of thoughts, feelings, and colors. At first, he was floating through a sea of red, the smoldering remains of the Sinner's Folly sinking behind him amidst the sounds of screaming sailors and yelling vrykul. Terrified, Danthor swam as fast as he could away from the whole scene, but felt something tug at his leg. He looked down and through the red saw the ravenous face of a sea giant, its sharpened teeth bared and ready to consume him. Unable to resist, he was pulled beneath the water . . ._

_ . . . and came out flying through swirling blackness. Through his dark backdrop, his mother, Marsha, and sister, Kayla, appeared. Their eyes were closed, but they knew who they were talking to. _"Some fighter you turned out to be,"_ his mother jeered. _"You would've been bettersticking to the plow and lived your life as a farmer."

No, that's not how I meant it to be,_ he attempted to tell them, but when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. Now it was his sister's turn, as she smiled in a twisted grin and said, _"I always knew you were stupid, but I never thought you'd turn out to be _this much_ of a failure. By the Light, Garomaw should've killed you when you first met to save everyone the trouble of having to meet you. You're a disgrace."

_Both his mother and sister spat on him simultaneously. They hit him in the face, and when he wiped it away, he saw that his hand was covered in_

(hey, we're gettin' movement over here)

_blood. Before he could respond, Kayla and Marsha's eyes shot open to reveal two pairs of red orbs, staring back at him, and then their forms were changed . . ._

_ . . . into Balean and Jonas, who seemed to tower over him in height—they were giants compared to Danthor. A massive hole through both their chests revealed their grizzly insides and rained blood down on the knight. _"Look what we got here,"_ Balean said to Jonas with a grin, blood pouring out of his mouth as he spoke._

"Looks like a naïve farmhand who thought he could play knight to me,"_ Jonas said. He kneeled down and looked Danthor straight in the eye. _"You never had the power to protect any of us, nor will you ever! You might as well just give up right now."

"Give up," _repeated Balean. _"No one wants to see you again."

(go get him then, quick!)

_Balean and Jonas let loose raucous laughter and simultaneously raised their legs, maneuvering them directly over Danthor. _"Give up!"_ they shouted in unison before bringing their foot crashing down. Danthor cowered in fear . . ._

_ . . . and opened his eyes to see Lethella standing in front of him. Her body was unmarred by blood or wounds, and she had a loving look in her eye. With a smile, she strode towards Danthor with her arms wide open. Danthor moved to meet her_

(highlord, as you requested)

_embrace, but just before he could hold her, she burst into dust. Before he could call her name out . . ._

— — —

He awoke in an unfamiliar room, bandaged and lying on a bed. It was dark inside the room, but he could tell from the covered window across from him that it was light outside.

"So you're finally awake."

Danthor hid his surprise. When stuck in unfamiliar surroundings, it's never good to show a sign of weakness. Instead, he slowly turned his head to the right and saw a man sitting in a chair next to his bed. He was old—at least twice Danthor's age—but didn't look the slightest bit creaky. His gray hair was parted down the middle and framed his gaunt and wrinkled face that was partially covered in a gray beard. He was bedecked in magnificent-looking plate armor. His breastplate, leggings, boots, and gloves were matching with designs of blue, white, and gold. _Paladin colors_, Danthor thought. From his epaulets shone a brilliant yellow light. On his back was a long, blue cloak, and a two-handed sword.

"It would appear so," Danthor said. "Exactly how long have I been asleep?"

"You've been in and out of it for four days straight now." His voice had a grizzled, yet wise tone to it. He smiled. "It looks like you're quite the warrior, if the scars on your body and inability to sit still as we tried to heal you are any indication."

_Best not to talk about my association with the Scarlet Onslaught,_ Danthor thought.

The man gauged the silence thoughtfully. Then said: "You're lucky Crusader Valus and the supply caravan he was escorting found you lying on the side of the road, otherwise you almost certainly would have died. Your wounds were too much to heal from their simple outpost, so they sent you up ahead on the caravan to us. You're in Icecrown with the Argent Crusade. We call this place the Argent Vanguard."

_Life moves from caravan to caravan, it seems,_ Danthor thought, and would have laughed if it hadn't hurt so much.

"I've told you everything about everything that's happened since you collapsed into unconsciousness, so why don't you tell me what happened before you collapsed into unconsciousness in return."

"What would you like to hear?"

"Your name would be a good start."

"Danthor Kurock."

"Ah." The man rose from his chair and held his hand out toward Danthor. "My name is Tirion Fordring."

Danthor knew that name well. Tirion was one of the first Knights of the Silver Hand, and was touted to be the Lich King's greatest enemy—a true paladin through and through. Jonas would've loved to meet him. "I was travelling on the road after a fight," he said.

"With the Scarlet Crusade, perhaps?"

Danthor opened his mouth to respond, thought for a second, then closed it. By the gods, how did he know? He didn't have his tabard on when he collapsed and Lethella's was so bloodstained that there was no way anyone could make out the insignia.

"The ring on your finger gave it away," Tirion said.

Danthor immediately looked to the third finger on his right hand. There, like it always has since he joined the Crusade, the red crimson ring stood. He'd had it on for so long he'd simply forgotten he was wearing it. "Yes," Danthor admitted, a little embarrassed. "However, I was leaving because I'd defected from the organization."

"You wouldn't be the first," Tirion mused. "But you don't expect me to believe such a story immediately, do you? Commander Entari is convinced you're a Crusade spy sent in to infiltrate our operation."

"It's called the Scarlet Onslaught now, actually," Danthor said.

Tirion nodded. "Regardless, you can understand our caution. As such, I don't want you to have any illusions about you being here. We took you in because you were dying and we had an obligation to heal you, but we can't very well let you go now, can we? You're deemed to retain a prisoner at the Vanguard until your true character is revealed."

"Sounds like a blast."

"However," Tirion added, "I don't know how much I believe Commander Entari's assessment, so you won't just be stuck in a prison while we interrogate you. No, that's too—if you'll pardon the expression—too much like the Scarlet way of doing things."

_More than you'll ever know,_ Danthor thought.

"So you'll be allowed free-reign within the borders of the Vanguard, without a weapon of course, until we can decide what to do with you."

Danthor got the most urgent news answered, but now it was time to find out about the most important fact. "I collapsed with . . . with a body. Do you know what happened to it?"

"It was brought with you here, and we gave it a clean burial in the graveyard," Tirion said. "The gravestone is unmarked. We were hoping you could help with that."

Danthor blinked back tears. "Her name's Lethella Borman. I should very much like to visit the grave. Am I healthy enough to walk?"

"The medics say that movement should be fine, if not somewhat strenuous."

"Fine by me."

Tirion got out of the chair, turned around, and walked towards the door. "Follow me, then."

That's when Danthor saw what blade he had strapped to his back. He thought it looked familiar—as well it should. It was the blade that Darion Mograine used to nearly cleave him in half. There was something different about it, though. Instead of having a green skull hovering above the blade, a golden circle with a palm etched into it replaced it. More importantly than that, the very _aura_ of the blade felt different; not giving off a sense of menace, but instead a sense of hope.

"The Ashbringer," Danthor couldn't help but whisper. "How did you come within possession of it?"

Tirion turned around and opened the door. "I'll tell you on the way."

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><p><em>A new Ashbringer!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	57. The Gravestone

In a strange, new place. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>57: The Gravestone <span>**

Located at the southeastern-most tip of Icecrown—the home base of the Scourge—the Argent Vanguard was surprisingly small. It was a modest, square-shaped base set up against the mountains ofStormPeaks. The front had a rather short stone wall flanked on both sides by watchtowers that framed the wooden bridge leading outside the base. At the end of the bridge, two banners of the Argent Crusade stood, a golden sun with black rays set against a white background. Inside the golden circle was the palm that was inscribed on the Ashbringer.

After crossing the bridge into the base, the path forks off. The left path leads to a second level where the command center, created with wood instead of stone, overlooked the entire valley the base was entrenched in. It was from this base that Danthor was escorted out of by Tirion Fordring, the new Ashbringer. Looking around at the Vanguard was underwhelming to Danthor, who was used to the architectural splendor of bases like the Scarlet Monastery and Tyr's Hand. _It's been hastily put together,_ he thought, and one look at the valley they were in explained it all.

They were surrounded on all sides by tall, snow-covered mountains. The only natural ways to leave the Valley of Echoes(as he had overheard it being called) was through two natural paths that carved into the mountains. The first was to the south, at the Vanguard's back that led into the Crystalsong Forest. The Argent crusaders had that area well-secured, and Danthor had no doubt that's the path the caravan that carried him rode in on.

The other path was to the north. Leading directly out of the Vanguard itself, the path cut a straight line through the valley into the mountains several hundred yards in front of the base. The narrow path was beset on both sides by the mountains. It reminded Danthor of the path that led from Garren's Haunt to the Agamand Mills. He couldn't see all the way to the end of the path, but Danthor was willing to guess it led into Scourge-controlled territory. And the northern path, the crusaders most definitely didn't have control of.

Throughout the snow-covered valley, Danthor could see groups of horsemen riding through, occasionally getting attacked by nerubian spiders—the Lich King's giant, spider-like monstrosities that lived and underground—that burrowed to the surface for guerilla attacks.

Tirion noticed Danthor's interest in the valley, and said to him, "The only reason we haven't secured this whole valley is because of the nerubians. Just when we think we have control, they pop up and push us back. It does good to have crusaders constantly patrolling the area."

They were walking on the path that would take them to the first level of the base when they passed by the front of the base, marked by a series of tables covered by awnings. There, a few crusaders were hunched over a table with a series of maps and parchments strewn about. One of the crusaders, a black human, called to them.

"Highlord Fordring, what are you doing with this unrestrained prisoner?" he asked, looking at Danthor with disdain. The man had dark purple hair fashioned into a crew cut with a full beard and bushy eyebrows of the same color. He wore heavy metallic plate armor with jutting shoulderpads that covered him from head to toe save his neck and head. On his chest he wore the tabard of the Argent Crusade, the same sunburst with black rays displayed on their banners.

"Crusade Commander Entari," Tirion said, slowly moving closer to the table. "I should like to remind you that we at the Crusade are not too quick to deal out judgment. This man is under suspicion of being a spy, yes, but that's no excuse to have him bound and kept in a dark room all day."

_Quite a difference from the other "Crusade" I know about,_ Danthor thought with a chuckle.

Entari looked at Danthor suspiciously. "Yes, highlord. I understand."

"That doesn't explain where you're going with him," another crusader, this one a dwarf, said. He had a mess of light-blonde hair with a beard that went down to his belt, having a braided moustache extending to half that length. He wore ornate, purple-colored plate armor with a shield strapped to his back and a one-handed axe at his side. He wore no tabard of the Argent Crusade.

"We're going to the graveyard, Dalfors," Tirion answered.

The dwarf named Dalfors raised an eyebrow. "Graveyard? Whatever for?"

"Obviously, crusader lord, to see a grave." Tirion gave both crusaders a smile. "If that's all then, I'll be sure to return shortly. And don't worry, Entari, I doubt an unarmored, unarmed man could kill me. Give me a little credit, you know."

"Of course, Tirion," Entari said.

"You are the Ashbringer, after all," Crusader Lord Dalfors said with a laugh.

"Be sure that Fezzik has all the supplies he needs," Tirion said, beginning to turn around. "If not, we'll have to get another supply caravan here as quickly as possible."

"Yes, sir!" both Dalfors and Entari said at the same time.

Tirion walked back to Danthor and said, "Sorry about that. They're both good-meaning crusaders who're concerned about my safety. Don't take what they said too harshly."

"Didn't plan on it."

"This way then."

Tirion led Danthor down the path to the first level, where he saw several crusaders patrolling around, some on horses, some not. The crusaders were of all races—humans, dwarves, blood elves—but they wore the same standard attire. They all wore metallic plate armor, all kept together by pieces of brown leather. They were all equipped with a one-handed, gold-colored hammer, and a white aegis that bore the sun sigil of the Argent Crusade.

Upon seeing a blood elf—a tall, lanky, pale-skinned humanoid with pointed ears—pass by them, Danthor looked at Tirion and asked, "So you accept all races into your ranks?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, we don't turn anyone away because of their race." Tirion turned and looked at Danthor in the eyes. "However, all of these crusaders of virtue are hand-picked by me to make sure there are no Scourge infiltrations. Now, I believe I promised you the story of how I came by this blade."

"You did."

"In summation," Tirion said, "I got it during the Battle of Light's Hope Chapel in the Eastern Plaguelands."

Danthor looked at him quizzically. "Light's Hope Chapel? Where the Argent Dawn base was?"

"Yes," Tirion said. "After laying waste to the Scarlet Enclave, the Lich King and his Knights of the Ebon Blade—led by Darion Mograine, who wielded the corrupted form of the Ashbringer—decided to set his sights on the last bastion of the Light in the Plaguelands. The Chapel."

_I remember Darion well,_ Danthor wanted to say. He was, after all, the man who nearly killed him with that corrupted blade. But he dared not say such a thing to Tirion—at least not right now.

"10,000 Scourge descended upon our 300 defenders, and many good men were lost," Tirion said with a touch of sadness in his voice. "However, the Light was strong at the Chapel, and we managed to subdue Darion and his death knights. The Lich King had sent them there to draw me out of hiding, as it were, and as soon as I had Darion secure, the Lich King came. He knocked Darion aside and set out to kill me. He nearly had, too, if not for at the last moment, when Darion tossed his corrupted blade to me. Maybe it was the strength of the Light at the Chapel, or maybe it was the faith in my body, but when I grabbed the blade, it was suddenly purified."

Danthor looked at the blade on Tirion's back.

"The Lich King was forced to retreat and the Ashbringer was mine. Darion and the surviving death knights of the Ebon Blade banded together and swore revenge on their former king. On that day, I called for a union of the Argent Dawn and the newly-reformed Order of the Silver Hand to make the Argent Crusade."

"And here we are," Danthor said. He could see the graveyard just ahead.

"And here we are," repeated Tirion. "That's my story, Danthor, so I hope you'll tell me yours in return."

"In time," Danthor said, moving towards the graveyard. "Not now."

"Of course," Tirion said. "The grave is just over here."

He pointed Danthor to the only unmarked grave in the whole place, which was marked by a low stone wall with an iron arch marking the entrance. The graveyard was near the back of the Vanguard, and Lethella's grave was in the back of that. Upon seeing it, Danthor dropped to his knees and ran his hand across the smooth headstone. Danthor was glad to see she had indeed received a decent burial.

"Hey," he said to the marker, "it's me. I'm sorry you ended up in this unfamiliar place, but it was the best I could do . . . I'm sorry for a lot of things, the most important of which is that I lived and you died. I'd do anything to reverse our positions, but it seems the Light isn't that kind. But I swear that the Onslaught and Westwind will pay, and I won't rest until they and the Scourge have been defeated. It's the least I can . . . do to repay all that you've given me . . ."

Danthor fell silent, but Tirion could hear the sounds of his sobbing for several minutes. He stood patiently by the front of the graveyard, watching Danthor's back. Finally, Danthor spoke:

"She was once a part of the Argent Dawn," he said with a sniffle. He turned around, wiped his eyes, and looked at Tirion. "There wasn't a person alive more adamant about eradicating the Scourge than her."

"I'm sure she was a fine warrior," Tirion said.

"She was, but Barean Westwind and the Scarlet Onslaught decided we were too troublesome to keep around. I managed to escape, but she . . . she didn't make it. If I had been stronger, she would still be with us, and that is the regret I'll carry for the rest of my life."

Tirion was silent. He didn't know what to say.

Danthor stood up and looked at the highlord of the Argent Crusade. "Her name was Lethella Borman, and her headstone should say: 'Ardent warrior against the Scourge, who stood against the world's injustices.' That's not enough to describe her accurately, but to do that we'd need a headstone as large as Icecrown itself."

"I'll have my men put as you requested," Tirion said. He looked at the other graves surrounding them. "She will have a place amongst the finest defenders of the Light the world has ever known."

Danthor nodded. "I know it's stupid to think you'd just let me go and have my revenge against the Onslaught, but it's not in my nature to just sit around. So while I'm here, I'll settle for fighting against the Scourge and helping you out. If you'd be willing to accept me."

"As an Argent crusader, you mean?" Tirion asked.

"If you'd accept me. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you don't get very far in life if you're not a part of an organization."

Tirion shook his head. "I'm afraid I must refuse your offer."

Danthor looked surprised. "Why?"

"I believe your story about what the Scarlet Crusade did to you," Tirion said, "I truly do, but I hand-pick every crusader who joins the Argent Crusade, and I can see in your eyes that your faith in the Light is . . . shaken, to say the least."

"Of course it is," Danthor said. "All this time I thought I was serving it faithfully, and it rewards me by killing everyone I ever cared about."

"Truly a tragedy, but the Light doesn't always give even the most faithful what they always want," Tirion said. "If that was the case, we'd have many more heroes who would still be alive. But we only accept those who trust the Light whole-heartedly, and I'm afraid that at this point in time, we cannot accept you."

"I see . . ." Danthor looked defeated.

"However," Tirion added, "that doesn't mean we don't have use for someone of your skills. Therefore, I will allow you to help us fight the Scourge and gain a foothold in Icecrown."

The knight's eyes lit up. "Excellent. When can I start?"

"You can start with those blasted nerubians plaguing this valley," Tirion said. "Go and talk to Crusade Commander Entari; he'll tell you what to do."

Danthor nodded and began to leave the graveyard. After a few steps, he stopped, looked back at Lethella's headstone, and whispered, "I'll be back soon. I promise."

He then left to help the Argent Crusade's campaign against the Scourge.

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><p><em>Finding a new purpose . . . <em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	58. The One Day Offensive

Being put to work by the Argent Crusade. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>58: The One-Day Offensive<span>**

"This is such bullshit!"

"Don't look too out of place, now, or they'll know something's amiss."

"Oh, don't give me that! Those mindless spiders wouldn't know the difference between us whether I'm angry or not!"

"Regardless, Crusade Commander Entari and Crusader Lord Dalfors would like us to not cause a scene that could arouse suspicion."

"Well, I'm still standing here, aren't I?"

"True enough, but it's never good to take unnecessary risks with the Scourge. We took a large risk by blowing a hole through that mountain there to get to Scourgeholm, but we were quickly overwhelmed and sustained a large amount of casualties. Let's try not to repeat that failure here."

Danthor spat on the ground and looked at the mountain the crusader was talking about. The path that reminded him of the one at Garren's Haunt—he now knew the Argent Crusade created that path (which in itself wasn't too hard to figure out due to the makeshift wooden boards attacked to the sides of the ridge) and that beyond it laid an undead base known as Scourgeholm. It seemed fairly well-fortified, too, in order to push the Argent crusaders back.

Still, knowing all of that didn't change the fact that Danthor was being used as bait to lure out a few nerubians. He was standing out in the middle of the Valley of Echoes pretending to be nonchalant. It was the plan that with such easy prey, a few nerubians would come forth and try to kill them. That's when a group of Argent crusaders would strike.

_"You asked how you could help, and this is the best way for you to do it,"_ Commander Entari had told him, handing him a blunt sword for defense. _"You're still under suspicion. As you gain our trust, you'll be given more important tasks."_

It took a bold kind of man to tell someone to their face that they're just being used as fodder. The sword was completely useless too. It reminded him of the blade his father left him to defend the Kurock farm. _Back to square one,_ he thought.

Fortunately, he wasn't alone in acting as a decoy. He had a blood elf crusader with him by the name of Sunborn. Like most blood elves, he had pale, near translucent skin, complimented by long pale blonde hair with the bangs brushed back that went halfway down his back. His eyes were a bright, shining green. He wore the traditional garb of an Argent crusader, complete with a shield and one-handed mace. Danthor wished he had a shield with him right about now.

The wind kicked up and Danthor shivered. "I wish these damned nerubians would hurry up, already. Do they usually take this long to attack completely wide open targets?"

"They're very sporadic in their attacks," Sunborn said. "Just when we let our defenses down is when they strike the fastest and hardest. Have faith, they'll attack soon enough."

Danthor fingered the hilt of his sword. "Yeah, but I'm more concerned about what's gonna happen to us once they _do_ attack."

Crusader Sunborn looked towards the entrance of the Argent Vanguard, where a large number of crusaders were waiting in the wings to rush out—some on horseback—the second any undead show their faces. "Have faith, Danthor. They wouldn't abandon us."

Danthor scoffed. "Hah, faith is the last thing we need right now. What we really need is fast reflexes and a tendency to—"

The ground underneath the two began to shift. On instinct, both shifted to a fighting stance and their hands hovered over their weapons. Not a few feet away from them, the ground collapsed and out burrowed an undead nerubian spider. Danthor looked at it with wonder and fear. It was about twice size of him, with four legs attached to a round venom sac that constituted the back half of its body. The front half consists of an almost humanoid upper-body, with two arms and heavy claws (each with three long, sharp fingers) attached at its shoulders near the head. The creature had no neck, but a large head with two beady red eyes and a clicking yellow mandible that served for teeth. Its topside had yellow, plate-like armor while its bottom side was black.

"By the Light . . ." Sunborn said. Evidently, he'd never seen one so up close.

Before either of them could move, three more nerubians popped up at that one's side. Behind them, they could hear the rallying cries of the crusaders as they rushed to meet them in the valley.

But would they make it in time?

Drawing his sword, Danthor took a cautious step backwards, Sunborn following his lead by drawing his mace and shield. Too little, too late, as the four nerubians moved in—and fast!—on the two. "Dammit, no choice!" Danthor said, rushing towards the first one with his sword at the ready.

He was faster than the nerubian, and got the first blow in. He swung his sword with all his might at one of the undead spider's legs, but the blunt sword did little to no damage. Before the knight could draw back, the nerubian raked him across his shoulder with one of his claws. Danthor cried out in pain and rolled to the side to avoid the next attack . . . right into another charging nerubian.

This time, Danthor was ready, and ducked as the creature went in for a sideways swipe at his neck. Gripping his sword with two hands, he jammed it into the creature's less protected underbelly. Surprisingly, the sword went through rather easily, and Danthor was sprayed with yellow blood as the nerubian mewled in pain. _Apparently the tip's not as useless as the rest of the sword,_ Danthor thought as he pulled the sword out and moved out of the way as the nerubian collapsed.

Crusader Sunborn was busy battling his own nerubian, blocking the spider's attacks tentatively with his shield while scoring a few light blows with his mace. By the time Danthor rushed to his aid, their reinforcements had arrived, led by Crusader Lord Dalfors himself, his one-handed axe gleaming in the son.

"Come on, lads!" he yelled as they rushed into the fray. "Let's show these creatures what the Argent Crusade can do!"

The crusaders let out a battle cry as they swept onto the battlefield, engaging the three remaining nerubians four to one. "Attack their undersides if you can!" Danthor yelled out as he and Sunborn worked on killing the nerubian right in front of them.

They attacked in tandem, with Sunborn blocking the strike and striking the creature's upper-body with his mace while Danthor moved in for an attempt to stab his soft stomach. Unfortunately, the nerubian brushed Sunborn's strike off and clouted Danthor in the side of his head before he could strike. The knight dropped to his side with a ringing in his ears, his sword falling out of his reach.

With Danthor on the ground, the nerubian turned his sights onto the blood elf (as he was safely ignoring the other crusaders attempting to attack its back and side). Its mandible clicked excitedly as its arms reached out and tried to grab Sunborn by the shoulders, no doubt to hoist him up and bite off his head in one clean go. The surprised crusader raised his mace and shield up in an attempt to ward the strike off, but the nerubian knocked both of them to the ground and managed to grab him by his shoulders.

Sunborn let loose a cry of alarm as his feet were lifted off the ground. Before the creature could bring Sunborn's head to its mouth, however, Danthor rushed in, grabbed Sunborn's fallen mace, and, with all his might, smashed it against the creature's leg, snapping it and sending the nerubian off-balance. It dropped Sunborn and tried to turn to face Danthor, but he was too quick. He picked up Sunborn's shield and jammed the sharp, bottom point of it into the creature's throat, sending it to the ground, crying weakly before finally becoming still.

Danthor helped Sunborn up, who said, "Light bless you, Danthor."

"Don't mention it," he said, looking around and seeing that the crusaders had dealt with the other two nerubians with no casualties.

"That was some good fightin', lad," Danthor heard a voice behind him say.

He turned around and saw Dalfors standing there, his axe covered in yellow blood and a smile on his face. "Oh, thanks," Danthor said. "I was just trying to survive this damned suicide mission."

Dalfors laughed. "Aye, I suppose it was kind of a suicide mission for you two, but you came out of it beautifully, so I'm sure even Entari would—"

"Crusader lord, look!" a crusader yelled.

Dalfors, Sunborn, and Danthor all looked in the direction he was pointing, and saw that a few couple hundred feet away, several more nerubians were rising from the ground. In fact, looking around the entire valley, they were popping up everywhere. "Must be some kind of coordinated attack," Dalfors cursed. "They're finally making their move!"

More nerubians were popping up around the valley, and most were moving towards the small group of crusaders. Danthor raised his shield and mace instinctively. "This won't be easy . . ."

"Indeed it won't, lad," Dalfors said. He turned to Sunborn and said, "Quickly, take a horse and report back to Entari about this. Tell him to send us more reinforcements fast! Be quick about it, laddie!"

"Yes, sir!" Sunborn said, getting on one of the horses and riding for the Vanguard as fast as he could.

Dalfors looked up at Danthor and said, "You think you could stick around and help us fight a bit longer? You look pretty handy with weapons."

Danthor looked at the one-handed mace and said, "It's not my preferred weapon of choice, but I think I can manage."

Dalfors gave a crazed grin that reminded him of Lethella when she got excited about the prospect of killing many undead. "Good!" he said, turning towards the charging nerubians. "Crusaders, let's show 'em why those that are living are superior in combat!"

Letting loose a battle cry (with Danthor joining them), the crusaders rushed towards the nerubians.

— — —

Danthor's vision was a hazy blur as he was being carried back to the Vanguard by two wounded crusaders. Behind them, he could still hear the sound of battle, though his hearing was a bit muffled. Last thing he remembered, he was bitten by one of the nerubians on the arm and, for no explicable reason, collapsed to the ground. His senses turned dull as he was put on a makeshift stretcher and brought through the gates of the Argent Crusade's base.

_(darkness)_

"Put him over there," he heard a voice say. "And you two need to be checked out yourselves! Go see the battle-priests for your wounds."

"Yes, father."

He was placed down on a woven mat with a clear view of the overcast midday sky. His muddied mind knew he was in the infirmary, a large collection of tents and beds placed around as priests and doctors moved around and healed the various wounded crusaders that came in and out.

He saw the vision of a middle-aged man with short, combed, jet black hair hovering over him with a needle and bandage in hand. "Just relax. You'll be better before you know it . . ."

_(more darkness)_

Danthor awoke by sitting up in a startled fashion. The lower half of his body was covered in a thin blanket. He winced as a pain in his arm shot through him, and he looked to see bandages covering the wound the nerubian gave him. The one that made him collapse.

"Oh, he's awake," he heard a familiar voice behind him say.

He looked to his side to see two men walking towards him. The first was Commander Entari, and the second was the man with the combed black hair that had evidently healed him. He dressed in gray-and-black robes with white colored shoulderpads. He looked like a priest.

"Glad to see you've recovered so quickly," Entari said. He motioned to the man next to him. "You really should be thanking Father Gustav for his expert medical aid."

Danthor looked at the father. "What was wrong with me?"

"You were poisoned by the nerubians," Gustav explained. "Fortunately, you got to us quickly, and I was able to administer the cure—which was derived from the nerubian's venom sac."

"Thank you," he said. "How long have I been out?"

"Only a few hours," Entari said.

In the distance, Danthor could still hear the sounds of battle throughout the valley. "And the nerubians?"

"Still fighting," Entari said. "Dalfors managed to subdue the main attack, but there are still several skirmishes going on all throughout the valley."

"Then I'd like to go out and help," Danthor said, beginning to stand up.

Entari held out his hand, signaling for him to stop. "No, I'd not have you go back out there so soon. Dalfors spoke highly of your bravery in battle when he returned. We have the attacks mostly under control, and I'd like to put you to use doing another task for us."

Danthor grunted a bit when he put too much pressure on his wounded arm. "What would that be?" he asked.

Entari looked to Father Gustav and asked, "Is he fit enough to fly?"

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><p><em>This day isn't over yet . . . <em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	59. The One Day Offensive 2: Dragon's Flight

There's more work to be done! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>59: The One-Day Offensive 2 – Dragon's Flight<span>**

"This is such bullshit!"

Crusade Commander Entari looked at Danthor with a bit of scorn, as if he was surprised the knight would use such foul language in front of him. But really, what did he expect? The man just woke up from being poisoned, and he was immediately being shoehorned into another task.

And not just any task—this one was far more dangerous.

"You said you wanted to be helpful," Entari said as they left Father Gustav's care at the Infirmary and went towards the back of the Vanguard. "This is how you can be helpful."

The next task in which Danthor could be "helpful" called for him to mount up on a flying creature to fly into Scourgeholm and rescue a few crusaders left behind. "But I've never flown on _anything_ before," he said.

Entari shrugged. "Have you ridden on a horse before?"

"Yes."

"It's the same thing, with the reins and everything. Only difference is that you'll be in the air."

"That's the part that most concerns me."

Entari stopped and turned around, pointing at Danthor. "Look, we fought a good fight when we first blew a hole in the mountain and breached Scourgeholm, killing many undead, but in their end we were forced to retreat, which, unfortunately, meant we left a few crusaders behind with their fate unknown. If there are survivors, we _must_ attempt a rescue. You're not the only one going out there, but because of the nerubians fighting at our doorstep, we're rather short-handed, which means you get another chance to prove your worth."

"Something tells me you're sending me with the hopes that I get captured or killed," Danthor said.

"You're half right." Entari turned back around and continued walking to the stables, where Penumbrius was waiting. "You've earned some respect with your valiant fighting in the Valley, true enough, but I'm still not completely sold. I hope you will return with several crusaders, but let's just say I wouldn't mourn over you if you were to never return."

"And if I should try to escape?"

Entari let out a little laugh. "Our skytalons aren't stupid. If they sense something is amiss, they'll take you right back here, and you'll be exposed for being a Scarlet spy."

For some reason, Entari's open mistrust of him only made Danthor more motivated to succeed—to prove to him (and all of the Argent Crusade, for that matter, especially Tirion) that he was worth a damn. "I won't try to run away," he said. "And I'll return with as many crusaders as this skytalon of yours can carry."

"Good." Entari stopped in front of the stables, right at the very back of the Vanguard, right by the southern path that led into the Crystalsong Forest. "Penumbrius, you here? I've got another flyer for you."

"I'm here, I'm here," Danthor heard a voice say as a tall elf appeared from inside the stables. "Nice to see you again too, Entari."

Penumbrius looked like a blood elf, but there was something about him that seemed different. He had long, light-brown hair that was fashioned into three braids. The first was a ponytail that hung in the back of his head, while the other two were braided much more intricately (and femininely, Danthor thought) and left to hang down over his shoulders in a kind of makeshift pigtails. He dressed in intricate, matching leather of black, purple, and light-brown. His skin was much paler than even Crusader Sunborn's, and something about his face seemed different, which made Danthor think that maybe he was—

"A high elf?" he said aloud.

Penumbrius laughed, though not unkindly. His voice was deeper than most elves as well. "No, I'm afraid not. I'm actually a dragon disguised as an elf—a member of the Bronze dragonflight, to be exact. One of the keepers of time."

"Penumbrius and his brood were kind enough to help our cause," Entari said.

Penumbrius nodded. "Yes, my kin will help. Together we will battle the Lich King and his undead legions. I hear you're our newest flyer."

"It would seem so."

"Follow me then. I will acquaint you with some of our Argent skytalons."

"Good luck," Entari said. "You're gonna need it."

_For once, I think you're right,_ Danthor thought sourly.

Penumbrius led the knight into the stable, towards the pens, where he could hear several low, guttural growls. "This is where we keep them. You may pick any one you like."

Danthor nearly screamed in fear when he saw what he would be flying. In truth, he expected to be flying a gryphon or hippogryph, both standards that he'd heard the humanoid races like to fly with. But this . . . he certainly didn't expect to be flying a _dragon_! They didn't look a thing like the dragons he'd heard about. These dragons seemed much more reptilian, with two legs and two much smaller arms like a raptor, as well as having coarse, green scales. They had the face of a dinosaur as well, with two beady blue-green eyes, jagged teeth, and a translucent glow emanating from their mouths. Their green wings folded up behind their backs rather naturally.

"They're called proto-drakes," Penumbrius said, patting one on the head when he saw Danthor back away with fear. The dragon was docile towards him, but that was because he was one of their own. Danthor wondered how they'd act around him. "They're a more . . . primordial form of dragon discovered on Northrend. Still, they're no less useful."

"Would it be too much to assume that flying on them is like riding on a horse?" asked the knight tentatively.

"Hmm? Oh, it's more difficult to be sure, but we'll get a saddle with reins prepared for you. You can take this one, since it seems you're not so willing to pick one yourself."

He opened the pen for the one he just patted on the head. The creature walked on its two legs slowly, its thick, black talons clicking as it moved. He regarded Danthor with only a passing interest, giving a small grunt as the disguised bronze dragon led it outside.

"Scourgeholm is no place to dally," Penumbrius told Danthor as he started to fasten a saddle to the proto-drake. "Rescue any captured crusaders that you find and return them to the Vanguard Infirmary immediately."

Danthor moved slowly to the creature, extending his arm out towards it. "I don't plan on staying there for too long anyways. Not with the Scourge trying to kill me and a dragon most likely trying to eat me—AH!" The proto-drake snapped at Danthor's hand, causing him to recoil immediately. "See?"

Penumbrius laughed. "It means he likes you. Don't worry about this one. He'll fly you to Scourgeholm and fly you true. Just point him in the direction he wants to go with your reins—just like riding a horse—and he'll go there."

Danthor inched towards the proto-drake, but this time he was still. Finally, he managed to get into the saddle on its back—surprisingly without incident. "Alright," he said. "I'll return your drake to you soon."

Penumbrius nodded. "I look forward to your victorious return. Now go!"

He gave the proto-drake one quick blow to its hindquarters, and the beast took to flight immediately, its great wings unfolding and pumping back and forth as they reached a higher and higher altitude. Danthor did all he could to just hold on. Eventually, the drake stopped when they were just high enough to fly over the mountain the Argent Crusade blasted a hole into just to get through (which the Argent Crusade called the Breach). There, they remained as Danthor marveled at the view.

"Gorgeous," he said, looking at the snow-peaked mountains to his left and right. Then, he caught sight of Scourgeholm. Its land was black and desolate, with a few gray-walled undead structures standing firmly against the Vanguard. They were circular in structure, with sharp, jagged structures protruding out of it. "Right," he said to no one in particular. "Let's go save some crusaders."

Just like with a horse, he kicked lightly at the proto-drake's side to signal it to go. The dragon took off immediately, flying so fast that the Valley of Echoes beneath Danthor went by in a blur. Still, even as the wind blew his hair back, Danthor had a grin on his face. Who knew flying on a dragon would be such a rush?

He didn't have much time to think about it, because before he knew it, he was flying over the Breach and was in the undead base of Scourgeholm. His brief views of the area from the Valley of Echoes didn't prepare him well enough for what he saw. He expected the darkened ground and skies, but the very . . . _feeling_ of the place was enough to bring down Danthor's spirits.

Scourgeholm was a sizeable base, with at least three different levels, each one peppered with nerubian-designed buildings (their architectural giveaways being that of circular buildings, several spikes protruding from the sides, and the overall gray-and-purple coloring). The air reeked of death and decay. Not a place Danthor wanted to be around for too long, that was for sure.

He kept his proto-drake stationary a good distance from the ground, so as not to attract unwanted attention. In the darkened sky (it was as if a veil of shadow surrounded the base) Danthor could see a few other crusaders on dragons attempting to rescue their comrades. On the darkened ground, Danthor could see a myriad of creatures wandering around the area—mostly nerubians, some looking like the spiders that attacked at the Valley, some who don't, and a scattering of animated skeletons. The ground was littered with bodies of crusaders. Danthor trained his eyes to see which ones were alive.

Then he saw movement, and he immediately sent his proto-drake into action, kicking at its side and forcing the reins downward. "There," he said, pointing to a human who was slightly moving. Unfortunately, he was right in the middle of a group of nerubians. "Take me there, and fast."

The dragon went into a nosedive so fast that Danthor almost fell off. The ground was getting bigger and bigger, but he had to wait for the right second. If he pulled up too early, he'd undershoot his target, and if he pulled up too late, he'd crash into the ground and die on impact or be killed by the nerubians. The proto-drake kept barreling towards the ground at high speeds, and Danthor kept his cool, waiting until . . .

"Now!" the knight yelled, pulling up on the reins. "Grab him, quick!" Penumbrius told him that the skytalons were intelligent enough creatures. Danthor hoped that the one he was riding was smart enough to get the idea.

Fortunately, it did, as the winged creature gave a little growl as it managed to scoop up the crusader with one of its arms. Danthor grinned as he pulled the reins upward, forcing the dragon back to an acceptable height where they wouldn't be attacked.

"Now put bring him up to me, nice and easy now," Danthor said.

The proto-drake obeyed, raising its arm towards the knight. Danthor managed to get a grip on the crusader and hoist him up onto the saddle, just behind him. The crusader gave a little groan as he settled in. He had long black hair matted to his bearded face. He was dressed in traditional crusade attire (save for a missing helmet), but was missing his hammer and shield. Danthor noticed a rather large gash on the side of his head.

"You okay?" Danthor asked. "Can you hear me?"

"Back to the Vanguard . . . warn them . . ." the crusader muttered.

"We will soon enough, don't worry," Danthor said, once again inspecting the ground. "We've gotta pick up a few more of your friends first."

"Not out of trouble . . . yet . . ."

Then, near a wall of rock that would lead to the second level of the base, Danthor spotted two crusaders right next to one another, moving. "Just hold on for a bit," he told the rambling crusader.

He got the dragon moving towards the area where the two crusaders lied. Looking around, he saw no undead nearby, so he could take his time with this one. The proto-drake slowly descended and landed on the ground next to the crusaders. Danthor moved the proto-drake closer.

"Come on, pick 'em up like you did before," he told the skytalon. "One in each hand, then we can get outta here and maybe make another trip—"

The air around them suddenly got very cold, even by Northrend standards. Instinctively, Danthor looked up towards the second level of Scourgeholm and saw an altar with a green runic circle on the middle of a square stone slab, flanked by two spiked spires.

And on the altar, he saw the Lich King.

The sight of him made Danthor tremble in terror. Clad in his silver saronite armor, with his runeblade Frostmourne at his side, the Lich King cut a terrifying figure. The two crusaders beneath Danthor gave out moans of terror.

"The Lich King!" he heard one of the crusaders (a woman) say. "It suddenly got so cold . . . so cold . . ."

"This will be your last incursion against the Scourge," the Lich King said in his echoing voice that reminded Danthor of Mattheus. "RISE! Ravage the living, my minions!" He drew Frostmourne and pointed it straight at Danthor.

From the ground, surrounding all of them in a circle, rose dozens of skeletons. Without a moments warning, they immediately rushed towards Danthor and the crusaders. "Move now!" Danthor yelled to the proto-drake. "Grab the crusaders, quickly!"

The skytalon, understanding the urgency, scooped the two crusaders up and immediately took flight. Chancing a look back, Danthor saw the Lich King standing there, staring at them as he grew smaller and smaller. "So cold . . ." the female crusader said distantly.

"Hold on, I'll getcha to the infirmary immediately," Danthor told them as they flew over the Breach.

"They're planning a huge attack!" the crusader with the matted black hair yelled in Danthor's ears, suddenly sounding coherent.

"What?"

"There are hundreds of them, maybe thousands!" the crusader said. "They'll attack at any moment, I'm sure of it! We need to warn Highlord Fordring!"

Could it be true? Come to think of it, Scourgeholm does have enough undead to launch an attack through the Breach, and the Lich King was there himself. It must be because he wanted to personally oversee the destruction of the Vanguard and his mortal enemy, Tirion Fordring.

"Are you sure?" Danthor asked, hesitantly.

"I am . . ." the crusader said weakly. "Lich King was raising dragons . . ."

Dire news, indeed. He'd have to tell Tirion immediately. He quickly dropped the three crusaders off to Father Gustav at the Infirmary and returned the skytalon to Penumbrius. "Thanks for picking this one out," Danthor told the bronze dragon as he began leading the proto-drake back into its pen. "He was useful in a pinch."

The proto-drake gave a little roar of approval.

Danthor rushed towards the main base of the Vanguard, where all the tables and shade cover was set up—the place where he first saw Entari and Dalfors. That would have to be where Tirion was. Fortunately, Danthor was correct, as he saw the highlord speaking with the crusade commander over battle plans.

"Tirion, please, can I talk to you?" Danthor said, rushing towards the table. "I have dire news."

"So you return," Entari said with a lingering smile. "Tell me, was your flight fruitful?"

"It was," Danthor said, not even bothering to look at Entari. "But I've learned some bad news from one of the crusaders I rescued."

Tirion raised an eyebrow. "What kind of news?"

"That the Lich King himself is at Scourgeholm, and he's planning an attack on the Vanguard."

"What?" Entari said. "It can't be!"

Tirion seemed more convinced, however. He rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully, saying, "Arthas . . . he strikes recklessly—without care or caution, but we've caught him off-guard." He paused for a second, then looked at Entari. "We shall bolster our defenses and weather the storm. If Arthas is indeed at Scourgeholm, he won't waste any time and will attack immediately."

Entari nodded. "It will be done, highlord."

When the crusade commander left to inform everyone of the highlord's decision, Tirion looked back at Danthor. "Thank you for this information."

The knight nodded. "I will happily fight by your side to repel the Scourge."

"Good." Tirion rubbed his chin again, then asked: "How good are you with a cannon?"

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><p><em>What's Tirion planning?<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	60. The One Day Offensive 3: Defensive Line

The next stage involves cannons! Enjoy!

**Summer's in full swing, so I'm now able to update twice a week. Update days will now be Wednesday (as usual) and Saturday!**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>60: The One-Day Offensive 3 – Defensive Line<span>**

"This is such bullshit!"

Danthor stood nervously on one of the Vanguard's four towers of defense—the one closest to the field of battle that was to come, no less. He drummed his fingers on the cannon he was manning. It was a rather big thing, mostly a long, wide black barrel that was attached at the base to a platform installed at the top of the tower.

_"I had plenty of time and equipment to make these towers and cannons,"_ Siegemaster Fezzik had told him. _"I'm confident that even with just four we can send back any assault the Scourge throws at us."_

Danthor was less confident about that.

Fezzik was a short, wily, green goblin with large pointed ears, a hook of a nose, and a too-wide smile that showed his filed teeth. He dressed simply in black leather with a tabard of the Argent Crusade placed over it. Over his eyes he wore a pair of square-framed goggles and in his hand he held a workman's hammer. Tirion had told Danthor before sending him to the goblin that Fezzik was invaluable to the Argent cause.

Higlord Fordring himself was mounted on his armored horse named Mirador, a golden warhelm placed on his head, completing his already bright-colored armor set. With that sword strapped to his back, he looked every inch the Ashbringer. He was flanked by Crusade Commander Entari and Crusader Lord Dalfors. The standard of the Argent Crusade was held by an elf crusader just behind them, as three hundred armored men and women of various races stood behind the banner, stiff at attention.

Normally, Tirion wouldn't be so quick to act on news he'd just heard—even news as dire as this. But when a few more crusaders flew in on their proto-drakes and confirmed Danthor's story (coupled with the rallying sounds they kept hearing in Scourgeholm), Tirion had gathered all his fighting force at the Vanguard together immediately. Just three hundred men. The same number Tirion had said fought at Light's Hope Chapel. Danthor wondered if ten thousand undead would fall upon them again.

Siegemaster Fezzik was manning the tower and cannon just across from Danthor. They needed every able-bodied crusader they could get to meet the Scourge at the Valley of Echoes, so once again it fell to someone like Danthor to take up the task of arming a cannon.

_"Each of the four cannons has been blessed by Father Gustav himself,"_ Fezzik had told the knight just before he climbed up the tower to take his position. _"Use it to destroy the Scourge. Just aim and shoot. The cannon will do the rest for you."_

Danthor had seen few cannons in his life, and knew next to nothing about using them. Simply aiming and shooting seemed simple enough, but a lot depended on having artillery support, and that was enough to make Danthor nervous. _Tirion trusted you enough to put you in such an important position,_ he thought. _Don't make him regret his decision._

The sounds on the other side of the Breach, in Scourgeholm, grew louder. Time was running out. Danthor inspected the cannon again. To his right, just within arm's reach, was a metal lever with a black grip. To his left was a similar-looking lever, but it was connected to a circular pulley. Near both his right and left feet were two pedals. Fezzik had carefully instructed him on what each machination did, but Danthor carefully went over their purposes in his mind again just in case.

Danthor looked out into the Valley of Echoes. By the time he'd returned from rescuing three crusaders, the battle against the nerubians in the Valley had finished. Dalfors was victorious. Almost as soon as it was over, however, they had to get ready for another attack. The Lich King could afford such things—he had more than enough undead to spare. The Vanguard was a different story. Tirion and his three hundred crusaders stood just outside of the base, looking straight at the Breach for when the Scourge would show their faces. The field of battle was strewn with nerubian corpses (they had blessed and buried all the crusaders who died in the battle), but otherwise empty. It was a level playing field on both sides, and it would be a bloodbath.

The sound on the other side of the Breach had reached a fever pitch, and everyone immediately knew the battle was about to begin. Tirion Fordring drew Ashbringer and turned to face all of his men. "Crusaders, on the other side of that mountain path comes death itself!" he yelled. "But I know all of you who stand here before me, and I know for a fact that even the prospect of death itself doesn't scare you! The Lich King hopes to strike fear into our hearts, but the Light fights on our side!"

_If only it did,_ Danthor thought sullenly. He hadn't yet forgotten what had befallen him and Jonas and Lethella for placing their trust in the Light. Lethella and Jonas paid the ultimate price, while he was left to carry on.

"Let's show the Lich King why the Argent Crusade will succeed!" Tirion continued. "Let's show him that the Vanguard will never fall, and most importantly, let's show him why we will be the one to bring forth his demise! _For the Argent Crusade!_"

_"FOR THE ARGENT CRUSADE!"_ all of his men yelled back.

Tirion turned around just in time to see the first of the Scourge coming through the Breach. _Here we go,_ Danthor thought. The first through the mountain path were the reanimated skeletons he had seen in Scourgeholm. They were quickly followed by the rather bulky (and heavily armored) nerubian cryptlords. Near the end of the Valley, several nerubian spiders burrowed out of the ground, giving Danthor the chilling memory of when he and Crusader Sunborn were ambushed several hours ago.

The final push for the Vanguard began just as the sun was setting.

_"Don't just stand there!"_ Danthor heard Fezzik yell to him and the two other men manning the cannons. _"Fire!"_

Fezzik was the first to shoot, a cannonball flying over the crusader's head and landing right where the first of the undead stood. The explosion sent several of them flying. _Here goes nothing,_ Danthor thought.

He turned the pulley to his left clockwise, and the ground beneath Danthor and the cannon began to turn to the right. He stopped turning it when he felt he was perfectly aimed at the charging Scourge. He pushed down on the pedal near his right foot several times in quick, short bursts, which made the cannon turn upward. When he felt he was ready, he pulled the lever to his right.

The cannon made a booming sound as it ejected its projectile. The cannonball flew straight, but fell just a little flat, hitting the ground a few feet in front of the Scourge and leaving nothing but a black spot in the snow. _A little higher then,_ Danthor thought when he heard the sound of gears beneath his feet. He looked and saw a trapdoor open up right in front of the cannon, as a small mechanical arm with a new cannonball placed in its scoop came forward and pushed the new cannonball into the muzzle before retreating back into the tower. _Just fire and the cannon will do the rest,_ he thought with a smile.

The two other cannons shot, one landing right in the middle of the nerubians and skeletons, while one flew a bit too high and hit the mountain near the Breach instead. Danthor kicked at the right pedal once more and pulled the lever to his right again. The cannon shot and hit its target, killing several Scourge with one blow. As the lever reset itself, the cannon was reloaded in the same fashion.

Tirion pointed to the Scourge with Ashbringer. _"SHOW THEM WHAT WE FIGHT FOR!"_ he yelled to his men. _"WE FIGHT FOR FREEDOM, JUSTICE, AND FOR THE LIGHT! CHARGE!"_

Tirion galloped forward, his crusaders giving a rallying cry and following him, their shields and hammers drawn. The Scourge gave no cry and showed no fear. They met right in the middle of the Valley, Tirion clashing first and cutting down an entire row of nerubians and skeletons with one swipe of his mighty blade. Dalfors and Entari struck next, galloping through the frontline on their horses and hacking at the enemies at their side.

Danthor quickly aimed his cannon higher and loosed another shot. With such a heavy concentration of undead and crusaders in the middle, he wanted to overshoot and hit the undead still pouring out of the Breach and not risk crusaders lives. His shot flew true, landing just at where the path ends and the Valley begins. Unfortunately, the Scourge were already spreading out as soon as they emerged from the narrow mountain path and the blast had few casualties.

The battle itself was starting to spread out at this point, all across the Valley, and Danthor didn't need to be an expert military strategist to see that the crusaders were slowly being pushed back. Tirion was still fighting valiantly on the frontlines, cutting down undead left and right, but with constant reinforcements coming from Scourgeholm, it was little wonder why they were starting to move towards the Vanguard.

Still, Danthor did his part well, bombarding the Scourge with artillery, and for a while it seemed like the Argent Crusade would win the day. This was due to the fact that nerubians and skeletons were no longer coming through the Breach. It looked like the Scourge were no longer getting reinforcements, and the four cannons were giving them the edge.

Then Danthor heard the roar of a dragon.

Looking up, he saw several fierce-looking skeletal dragons flying over the Breach. They may have been nothing but a mass of bones with blue essence coursing through them, but these frostbrood destroyers looked fierce, with two great black horns atop their heads, their two massive wings that created gales as they flapped, their black talons looking razor sharp, and of course, their mouth of jagged teeth. Again, Danthor didn't need to be an expert military strategist to know what to aim for next.

He kicked the right pedal several times, aiming the cannon higher and higher into the sky. The undead wyrms were large, but they moved slower than the knight would have thought, which made them an easier target. Tentatively, he shot a cannonball into the air at one of them. The dragon easily listed to the side to avoid the projectile, and it landed harmlessly into the mountain.

By the time it had taken for the cannon to reload itself, the frostbroods were upon the battlefield, breathing streams of blue-colored fire that charred both crusaders and undead alike. It was clear the Lich King didn't care about the well-being of his own men. Still, the dragons were doing their jobs well, and a few sped past heading straight for the Vanguard. Danthor quickly shifted his aim to them.

The knight fired off another shot and it actually hit the wyrm in the side of the face, causing a jarring impact. Still, the dragon seemed unfazed and continued onwards, a piece of its skull falling off as it moved. Nervously, Danthor moved the pulley to his left counterclockwise to get a better shot at the beast. And that's when he noticed a red button on the left side of the cannon.

The button was labeled: "WARNING: Reckoning Bomb!"

Danthor didn't know what a reckoning bomb was, nor did he have time to ask Fezzik. The frostbrood was barreling towards him, and if the label had "WARNING" on it, it was probably the only thing that could save his life. He pushed the button, and heard a few more gears turning inside the cannon, but nothing happened immediately.

"Dammit!" spat Danthor. The dragon would be on him in less than ten seconds, and his last hope had faded. _I'll be damned if I'm not going out without a fight, though,_ he thought and pulled the lever to his right one last time.

The cannonball blasted out like usual, but Danthor immediately noticed something was different. The cannonball glowed a bright yellow. Just as the wyrm was steadying itself to blast the tower Danthor was on into bits, the glowing projectile hit it square in its hollowed chest, where its glowing blue essence was the most concentrated. It caused a small explosion, but this time the dragon gave out a roar of pain as it was hit, and Danthor could immediately see why. The blue essence that the Lich King had given the dragonic skeleton was suddenly replaced by a blinding yellow light—and it spread fast, coursing through the entire wyrm's body in less than five seconds.

The power of the Light burst through the dragon's hollowed eyes with a roar of pain, and then the beast dropped to the ground, a lifeless skeleton once more. _That was the power of the Light,_ Danthor thought in disbelief. Then he remembered what Fezzik said

_("each of the four cannons has been blessed by Father Gustav himself")_

and smiled. He would have to remember to thank Gustav for saving his life, and hit Fezzik for not explaining to him such a powerful weapon he could have been using.

Danthor looked back at the battlefield and saw that even with the help of the frostbrood dragons, the crusaders were still winning. The Scourge's numbers were dwindling, and fast, and while crusaders bodies were numerous, it was the Ashbringer that was turning the tide and bringing them victory. While he could see Entari and Dalfors off their horses and fighting on the ground, he could still see a mounted Tirion Fordring riding through his enemies and turning them to ash with his powerful blade. _A blade forged by the Light,_ Danthor thought.

He took his eyes off the dragons in the sky for one second, and immediately a second frostbrood was upon him. Letting out an involuntary squeal of terror, Danthor quickly slammed his fist against the big red button on the side of the cannon and went to fire, but he was just a second too late. The frost wyrm blew its icy breath with such force that the tower shattered underneath Danthor.

The knight gave a cry of pain as the ground fell out from under him, taking him and his cannon with it. The force of the blow must have sent him flying and blacked him out, for he only awoke with the jarring pain of hitting the ground several feet away from the ruins of the tower. He was armored, true, but that did little to stop the pain from shooting through his body. Blood trailed down his face as his vision was blurred. But not blurred enough to ignore the frostbrood dragon coming towards him, its mouth wide open.

Danthor weakly scrambled back, reaching for the sword at his side. He drew it and held it in front of him clumsily. _"Come on then!"_ he yelled at the dragon, his voice sounding like it was coming from somewhere else on the battlefield. _"Just try and take me! It'll be the last thing you ever do!"_

The dragon roared and readied its claw to strike, raising it high into the air. Just before he could bring it down on Danthor, however, a golden cannonball flew and hit the dragon in the side. The beast gave a roar of pain as the golden light spread through him, and within a few seconds the blue essence swirling through him was gone and he was dead. Danthor used all his strength to roll to the side and barely avoid being smashed by the bones of a dragon.

He looked to his right to see that it was Siegemaster Fezzik who had fired the shot. His too-wide mouth was smiling, he could see. _Gotta remember to hit him next time I see him . . ._ Danthor thought distantly, but all he could do now was lie on his back and stare up at the darkening sky.

He wasn't sure how long he lied there. He must've passed out for a bit, for when he finally regained all of his senses, it was full dark and he could hear the cheers of the crusaders echoing throughout the Valley. Slowly (and painfully), he stood up and staggered over towards the entrance of the Vanguard. It was dark out, but his eyes adjusted relatively quickly, and he could see hundreds of crusaders standing over their foes with their weapons raised high and cheering. In the distance, Tirion was still mounted, Ashbringer raised high and looking like a beacon of hope.

Danthor didn't need to be an expert military strategist to see that the Argent Crusade had won the day.

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><p><em>An end to the longest day.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	61. The Ebon Watcher

Taking a much deserved break. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>61: The Ebon Watcher<span>**

It was the first time in a long while that he'd slept so soundly. Although he was still considered a prisoner and under suspicion of being a spy for the Scarlet Onslaught, Danthor was allowed to sleep in a guarded room with his own bed. _The same place where I awoke and started my journey with the Argent Crusade,_ he thought as he drifted to sleep . . .

He awoke the next morning to the sound of hammers, horses, and men yelling. Rubbing his eyes, Danthor could see that it was midmorning. That was strange—normally he was woken up at first sunlight like everybody else. His injuries from the Battle of the Vanguard (as it was called) weren't too severe, so extra sleep wasn't explicitly warranted. Not that he was complaining.

He dressed in his normal chainmail garb, strapping his sword at his side and fastening the shield common to the Argent crusaders—the white one with a sunburst on it—to his back. Running a hand through his hair, he took a deep breath and stepped out into the cold.

He meant to visit Lethella's grave, but was immediately spotted by Crusade Commander Entari and was called over. "Good to see you well," he said to the knight. "How are your wounds?"

"Healing." Danthor felt a small twinge in his back even as he said it. Most of the pain had manifested itself in his spine, what he landed on when the tower under him collapsed and he was sent flying.

_"You're lucky it wasn't broken,"_ Father Gustav told him, applying his healing magic and salves. _"Still, it'll hurt for a few days."_

"Good, good," Entari said with a smile. This struck Danthor as strange. The crusade commander had never been this nice to him before, always regarding him with suspicion of actually being a spy for the Onslaught. Danthor got none of that suspicion from him today, however. "I'm glad you're not too hurt. The Crusade owes you a lot for your help."

"Oh . . . thanks," Danthor said, slightly taken aback. This was definitely not like Entari. He craned his neck to look over to the graveyard (which seemed to be growing every day, unfortunately). "I was actually going to visit a grave, but I appreciate your thoughts."

Entari nodded understandingly. "Gotcha. Unfortunately, Highlord Fordring has requested your appearance immediately. He's in the usual location."

"Okay, well it'll just take me a few minutes to—"

"The highlord _insists_," Entari said, some of his old familiar tone returning. "He's allowed you extra sleep on account of your wounds, but please don't keep him waiting longer than you have to. He is the Ashbringer, after all."

"I understand." Entari was right—Tirion was the _true_ hero of the Battle of the Vanguard and the leader of the Argent Crusade, which commanded respect. He was also the one who took Danthor in when he had no other place to go. If Tirion called for him, he would go immediately. The dead would have to wait.

As Danthor was walking to the highlord, he found several crusaders stopping and looking at him. Most knew he was technically a prisoner here, but almost no one paid him any mind before this. _This has been a most strange morning, it seems._

A few crusaders even stopped, saying things like, "It's an honor, Danthor," or, "We couldn't have done it without you," or, strangest of all, "You're a hero of the Crusade!"

Danthor, not knowing how to take such praise, usually reacted with the same response, "Uh . . . thank you very much."

It was only when he passed by Crusader Sunborn did he finally get some answers. The blood elf too acknowledged Danthor, nodding and saying, "Well if it isn't the hero himself."

"What's all this hero business about?" Danthor asked quietly, looking around as if afraid someone was eavesdropping in on their conversation.

Sunborn raised an eyebrow. "What do you think it means? Word of your valiance during the Battle of the Vanguard has spread; everyone knows who you are and is calling you a hero."

"Ridiculous," Danthor said quickly, mostly on instinct. "Siegemaster Fezzik was just as much a hero as I was. Hell, he even saved my life!"

"And he's being called a hero as well," Sunborn said. "But he's also a sworn member of the Argent Crusade, unlike you. Such heroism is to be expected from someone of his rank. _You_ were brought to us as a prisoner with questionable loyalties. But everyone's been hearing about all that you did yesterday—from fighting off the nerubians to saving crusaders from Scourgeholm to providing much needed artillery support at the Battle. You didn't have to do any of that, but you still did, and people find your story inspiring. It's like you're still showing us that there is still good and selflessness in the world."

"I guess that's easy to forget in Northrend, huh?" Danthor had not heard such high praised since his fight against Garomaw at the Scarlet Monastery, and that seemed like ages ago.

Sunborn nodded. "You've earned it, so do me a favor and stop acting like a humble asshole and look happy for once. You're allowed, ya know."

Danthor smiled. "Alright. I gotta go see Highlord Fordring. I'll see you later."

"Bye."

He found Tirion where he always was when commanding, underneath the shade of a pitched tent standing over a cluster of wooden tables with a group of commanders surrounding him. This time, though, he was standing with only one other man. The man was about as tall as Tirion, wearing a black robe with a hood shadowing his features, save for his orange-colored beard. Strapped to his back were two fearsome-looking blades that shared a slight resemblance to Frostmourne itself, though clear differences (such as the stylized skull connecting the blade to the handle or the blue crystals adorned on the hilt) made it clear Danthor wasn't laying eyes upon the Lich King. His shimmering blue eyes that shone through even the shadows of his hood gave no lies, however.

_A death knight,_ Danthor thought.

Tirion noticed him then. "Ah, Danthor, come over here, please. I'd like to speak with you." The man standing next to Tirion crossed his arms.

Danthor did as he was bid, standing opposite of them across the table. "Good morning highlord. How's the Vanguard holding up?"

"Repairing it as we speak, and the Valley of Echoes is secure." Danthor looked across the valley to see a few wayward corpses of nerubians and frostbrood dragons scattered in the snow. All the dead crusader's bodies (and the skeleton soldiers for the Scourge, for that matter) had been cleared away, but several groups of living crusaders still patrolled the area regularly. "We have you partially to thank for that."

"I did what I could."

Tirion laughed. "Aye, and you destroyed one of the Vanguard's towers in the process."

Danthor grinned. "A necessary sacrifice."

"You must have a great deal of luck to survive such a strike," the hooded man said in his echoic voice. Danthor thought it sounded rather familiar. From Mattheus, perhaps?

"More than you'll know."

Tirion cleared his throat. "Yes, well, Danthor, I'd like to introduce you to one of our allies, known as the Ebon Watcher."

"Well met," Danthor said, extending his hand. "From the Knights of the Ebon Blade, no doubt?"

The Ebon Watcher didn't extend his own hand. He stood motionless, studying Danthor. "An emissary from them, let's say. The Knights and the Crusade have banded together for a common purpose—to kill the Lich King. After hearing about the Crusade's recent victory, I was flown in to help."

"Indeed, the Ebon Watcher has intimate knowledge of the Scourge and their tactics," Tirion said. "I have asked for his assistance for our assault on Scourgeholm."

"We're invading Scourgeholm so soon?" the knight asked, slightly surprised.

Tirion nodded. "Now is the time to strike and establish our presence in Icecrown. The battlefront moves on!"

"Tirion has spoken highly of you," the Ebon Watcher said. "He says your contributions have been invaluable. He's requested to send you along with me and a few other death knights to attack the Scourge stronghold."

Danthor should've been flattered, but he wasn't. He was to be teamed up with a group of death knights to fight off the Scourge? Danthor wanted to believe he was requested specifically because he'd earned the Argent Crusade's trust, but the cynic in him kept wondering if it wasn't because he was expendable and had already shown he wouldn't run away when given the chance. His back throbbed in pain.

"I'm honored," Danthor said. "I would like nothing better than to kill some undead." He tried a smile. "It'll help take my mind off things."

"You'll have to get to them before us first, human," the Ebon Watcher said. Danthor could tell he offended him, probably by saying he wanted to kill "undead" instead of "the Scourge." A slip of the tongue, though not an untruthful one. "I've already got two knights of the Ebon Blade who are more than capable of pulling off this task alone with me."

"We've gone over this," Tirion said. "I'd like to have at least one of my own around to make sure everything goes well."

_You trust me enough to send me off with three death knights into Scourge territory, but not quite enough to join your group, huh?_ Danthor thought sourly.

"To make sure we don't do anything traitorous, you mean," the Ebon Watcher said harshly.

Tirion nodded. "In a way, yes. I trust you implicitly, but I'd feel more comfortable if Danthor were to accompany you." He looked at the knight. "Are you up for it?"

"I am." His back gave a dull throb as if to try and disagree with him. He looked at the Ebon Watcher. "When do we move?"

"We leave in an hour," the death knight said. "Near the Breach you'll find a camp set up crawling with crusaders. Seek out the two death knights and tell them who you are, then wait for me."

"Understood." He still had the habits of a soldier, gods damn him.

Seemingly satisfied, the Ebon Watcher walked off. When he was out of earshot, Tirion looked at Danthor and said, "I'm sending you on this mission because you're a hero and I believe in you, I want to make that clear. Even someone like Entari thinks that if you do this for us, all suspicion of you being a spy for the Scarlet Onslaught will be lifted."

"Makes sense," Danthor said, glancing back at the cluster of tents he could see near the Breach on the other side of the Valley of Echoes. "I mean ,what self-respecting Scarlet crusader would be caught dead working with death knights?"

"True enough."

_If only he knew,_ Danthor thought. He could have laughed, but he didn't.

— — —

The Argent Crusade had a constant guard posted at the end of the Breach now that they had control of the Valley. Once in a while, a wayward undead would come charging through the mountain path, but they were quickly repelled. Just off to the west of the Breach stood a few makeshift tents and wooden hovels.

Danthor recognized a few of the crusaders there: Crusader Lord Dalfors, Siegemaster Fezzik, and Father Gustav. All three were busy going about their own tasks, which, from what Danthor had heard from some of the crusaders patrolling the area, involved creating a brand new base overlooking Scourgeholm, dubbed "Justice Keep." Danthor knew he and his death knight companions would be an important first step.

Speaking of his death knight companions, he spotted the two he was looking for relatively easily. In a group of humanoids that generally wore white-colored armor, spotting two bright-eyed, dark armored death knights wasn't too difficult. He went to them immediately.

One was a male orc, the other a female blood elf. They regarded Danthor suspiciously. "Can we help you?" the blood elf asked contemptuously.

"Yes, you can. I'm Danthor Kurock." He didn't offer a handshake this time, remembering how the Ebon Watcher reacted. "A warrior who's not exactly a part of the Argent Crusade."

The orc spat. "A sword for hire, then?"

Danthor shrugged. "Something like that. I was instructed by Tirion Fordring, the Ashbringer, and your leader, the Ebon Watcher, to meet up with you two here. Apparently I'm to be accompanying you into Scourgeholm."

The blood elf looked Danthor over, and the knight did the same. She was slightly shorter than him, and looked much scrawnier, but in Danthor's experience that meant nothing in terms of a death knight's strength. Like most blood elves, she had milky white pale skin with shockingly bright blue eyes. Her skin color was offset by her blue-green colored hair set in a ponytail and parted to the left side of her face and her purple-colored lips. She dressed in black, rather plain-looking plate armor with a tabard of the Ebon Blade—that of a purple runeblade, pointed downwards, set against a black background with a white trim—covering her breastplate. A two-handed runeblade was strapped to her back.

"You don't look like much," she told him. "How many battles you've been in?"

"Several."

"Minor roles, I'm sure."

"Well, I'm still technically _alive_, so I guess that counts for something."

Surprisingly, a faint smile showed on her face. "I suppose that's true, though make no mistake, human, death only makes one stronger."

"I'll take your word for it."

"My name is Jayde." She didn't extend her hand.

Danthor nodded. "Nice to meet you."

Jayde motioned to her orc companion. He was a bit taller than Danthor, and much brawnier. Like most orcs, he had green skin, though his was so dark it looked almost gray. His lower jaw jutted out in an under-bite that revealed two pointed fangs sticking out. On his chin was a white beard that was tied together into a single braid that extended down to his belt. The hair on top of his head was also white and fashioned into a mohawk. He wore plate armor with alternating colors of gray, black, and light-green, with two large epaulets resting on his broad shoulders. He too wore a tabard of the Ebon Blade, while his own runeblade wasn't a sword, but rather a two-handed axe. "This one here's named Munch," she said.

Danthor nodded. "Nice to meet you."

Munch spat. "I hope you know how to use that sword, or you'll quickly be left behind."

"Dully noted . . ."

They waited for about thirty minutes before the Ebon Watcher rode in on his horse. The first thing Danthor noticed was the horse itself. It was a deathcharger, true, but the one he was riding looked very familiar. _That's Salanar the Horseman's horse,_ he realized. What he didn't know was the horse was named Fury.

That revelation didn't last long, however, because when Danthor looked at the Ebon Watcher as he rode in, he immediately recognized him. And how couldn't he, when he was wearing that high-ranking, cobalt-colored saronite armor stylized with skulls and chains, complete with a warhelm shaped like a skull with two horns protruding into the air? He looked exactly the same as when he saw him at the Scarlet Enclave, while he was having his final fight with Jadorra Shadowbane.

_But he doesn't have Ashbringer anymore. No, he gave that to Tirion and replaced it with two runeblades of his own._

The Ebon Watcher strode up and dismounted, his horse Fury returning to the Realm of Shadows, where all death knights' horses reside until summoned. He looked at Danthor with his head cocked. "You're staring with your mouth wide open, boy," he told him. "Are you that in awe with my battle armor?"

"You're Darion Mograine," Danthor finally managed.

Jayde and Munch looked at Danthor quizzically. The Ebon Watcher tilted his head back and laughed. A raucous, echoing laugh. "Ah, it's about damned time you noticed. I recognized _you_ the second I saw you—you were that whelp I cut down with Ashbringer in New Avalon. I told you that you must've had a great deal of luck to survive such a strike, didn't I?"

"You mean you didn't know?" Jayde asked. "Highlord Mograine's the leader of the Knights of the Ebon Blade. He came here at Tirion's request."

"He told me he was an emissary," Danthor said. "Calling himself the Ebon Watcher."

Munch laughed. "You've picked yourself up an intelligent one here, highlord! I can't wait to see what he can do in the field!"

"I do as well," Darion said. He looked up at the sky. It was slightly cloudy over the Valley, but it would no doubt be dark and overcast over Scourgeholm. "Speaking of which, we're wasting time. I trust you've brought everything you needed, 'cause we're leaving."

Darion, Jayde, and Munch struck out towards the Breach, leaving Danthor to take up the rear. He let out a sigh. He'd be going into enemy territory, relying on a death knight who had tried to kill him before. _Great start._

His back throbbed.

* * *

><p><em>It's going to be an . . . interesting trip, to say the least.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	62. Showing One's Worth

Deep inside enemy territory! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>62: Showing One's Worth<span>**

They stood over the corpses of three nerubians and four skeletons. One of the nerubians in question was larger than the other two, with a brown carapace, four spindly legs, four eyes, two small arms, and a semicircle-shaped headpiece. He was also their target.

The four of them were in the circular temple at Scourgeholm. It was small, gray stoned (like every building in the undead stronghold), and their target—one High Priest Yath'amon—was found at the very center, with a two nerubians and four skeletons for bodyguards. Danthor dealt mostly with the skeletons and got a few strikes in against the high priest, but most of the damage was dealt by the three death knights.

The death knight Munch sheathed his axe and gave a kick to Yath'amon's headpiece, sending it flying and clattering against the wall near the entrance. "One down, two to go, right highlord?"

Darion Mograine nodded, his helmet betraying no emotion. He was the one who had done the most damage, attacking Yath'amon with his matching runeblades and incredible fury. Danthor had never seen such strength before. "That only leaves Salranax the Flesh Render and Underking Talonox," he said in his echoic voice.

Danthor moved over to one of the skeletons and rummaged through the supply bag he'd brought with him. Eventually, he found the vial of holy water given to him by Father Gustav. _"Not all of our soldiers made it out of Scourgeholm,"_ he had told Danthor before they departed through the Breach. _"Many were slain and turned into twisted reflections of their former selves."_

Danthor, quite frankly, was surprised to find out that those skeletons he had seen in Scourgeholm and killed during the Battle of the Vanguard were those of crusaders who had been left behind and (unlike those he managed to rescue) didn't make it. When he was given the holy water, the knight agreed to grant Gustav's request.

_"For those damned souls there is no peace,"_ he had said. _"We must provide their souls with rest. Sprinkle this holy water onto their bones so that their soul might be free."_

Danthor uncorked the vial. He wasn't given much, but the father had said it was blessed with the Light, and only a little bit would do enough. _The Light . . ._ It was no secret that Danthor had lost his faith in such a thing after the incident with Westwind, but recently he'd been finding himself starting to believe again. _Maybe it's because I'm hanging around with men like Tirion,_ he thought.

He glanced at the three death knights, busy cleaning their weapons and checking the corpses of the dead. Danthor couldn't help but smile. Being around men so holy that they'd send him off alone with three undead death knights; though to be fair, they didn't seem all that bad. Danthor had travelled with them for about a day now and he was slowly finding out more about them.

Munch the orc was loud, gruff, and occasionally boisterous, but he was capable of interesting conversation (provided the subject matter interested him) and even openly laughed when he found something comical. He kind of reminded Danthor of Balean. Jayde the blood elf, on the other hand, was usually quiet and introspective, but also very intelligent, cunning, and fiercely motivated to kill as many of the Scourge as she could. She reminded Danthor of Lethella.

It was Darion who was the hardest to figure out. On one hand, Danthor remembered him as the cruel leader of the death knights at the Enclave, who had mercilessly cut him down with his corrupted Ashbringer. Apparently the several months of intervening time seemed to have mellowed Darion out a bit. He wasn't much small talk, but he wasn't as cold as the knight had first thought. And after seeing the way he had dealt with High Priest Yath'amon, Danthor was glad he was on his side.

He sprinkled a few drops on all four of the skeletons, and just like before, a yellow light enveloped their bodies as a spectral form escaped them. "Must be their corrupted souls leaving," Jayde observed when she first saw it. She gave Danthor a sly smile. "Just keep that stuff away from us, or you'll be all alone out here."

When the deed was done, Danthor corked the vial and put it back in his bag. _Powerful stuff, you got there, Gustav,_ he thought. _Between that and the cannonballs, I'm starting to think the Light might actually be on our side._

Darion motioned towards the exit. "Come on, we've gotta keep moving. We can only waste so much time here, and two more enemies await us."

They had already reached the second level of Scourgeholm, where the temple was located—right next to the altar where Danthor saw the Lich King, actually. After killing Yath'amon, they left the temple for their next target, known as Salranax the Flesh Render. It didn't take Danthor long to realize that if they managed to kill the three leaders of Scourgeholm, making Justice Keep would be a breeze.

While Scourgeholm was pretty big, it wasn't as crowded as Danthor had thought. They'd only run across a few nerubians and skeletons before they made it to Yath'amon, but that didn't mean they didn't have to be careful. Instead of taking the path laid out before them to get to the next plateau, Darion commanded them to take a shortcut and climb up the wall of rocks that was the foundation of the third level, instead.

"I hate heights," Munch had said.

"Doesn't matter," replied Darion. "I'd not risk running across a patrol unit on the path. It may be more inconvenient, but scaling the rock face and cutting straight to Salranax is much safer."

The climb wasn't too arduous, and Danthor wasn't scared of heights. He took the lead, moved slowly and deliberately with Jayde, Munch, and Darion following at his heels. About halfway up he stopped momentarily to look at the sky. The sun was blotted out and nowhere to be seen. _What a depressing sight._ Danthor wondered if his death knight companions preferred such weather. Sighing, he continued to the next plateau . . .

. . . and appeared right in front of Salranax the Flesh Render. The man was a vargul—a vrykul warrior killed and resurrected by the Lich King. As such, he was tall like most vrykul, at least six and a half feet. His skin was gray and rotted, with his gray hair clinging to the side of his head like brittle straw. He wore the tattered remnants of a blue robe that had long since rotted away, exposing his chest and legs. His left eye glowed yellow like a fireball. He had no right eye.

When Salranax saw Danthor peek his head over the rocks onto the third level, his broken jaw twisted into a contorted grin, revealing his missing and rotted teeth. "Puny human. Did you think we see nothing in Scourgeholm?"

_I had hoped so,_ he thought.

Munch and Jayde had peered over the top of the plateau and were struggling to get on their feet at this point. Their expressions showed no surprise, as both immediately drew their runeblades like true warriors. "What a pleasant surprise," Jayde said to the flesh render. "And here we thought we'd spend the rest of the day looking for you."

Salranax was flanked on both sides by three nerubians. Munch looked over all of them and grinned wolfishly. "And he brought some friends with him, yes he did. I think I'll have to call Melt to help out with this one."

As Danthor drew his sword and shield, he saw Munch channel his necromantic powers to summon a ghoul from the ground. (There were no shortages of corpses in the ground at Scourgeholm.) The ghoul gave a few looks around and let out an earthy grunt, understanding the situation immediately. Munch named all of his summoned ghouls Melt, and this one was no exception.

Danthor heard the sound of unsheathing swords behind him. Highlord Darion Mograine strode up behind him with his weapons poised to strike. "The point of an ambush is to attack when we're unprepared, you know. Not that I expected any form of intelligence from the likes of you."

"To be fair," Munch said, "he did outsmart us. And you _did_ say climbing those abominable cliffs was safer to avoid patrols."

Salranax ignored him. He held out one of his rotting hands and summoned a fireball within it. "Enough babble! Kill them!"

The six nerubians obeyed, rushing forward as the vargul threw a fireball to signal the attack. Danthor blocked it with his shield—the fire momentarily warmed his face and reminded him of Lethella. No time to dwell. Danthor rushed forward to meet one of the nerubians. The creature reeled backwards as the knight swung his sword at it, but quickly regained its footing and sent one of its spider-like legs crashing down towards him. Danthor sidestepped the attack and slashed at his newly exposed leg. The sword went about halfway through, but no more. The nerubian squealed in pain and moved back, almost wrenching the sword from Danthor's grasp. It tried again, this time going for a sideways swipe to take Danthor's head off. He ducked and leapt towards the creature, landing under his belly. With a grunt, Danthor thrust his blade into the creature's stomach, spilling blood and sending the nerubian staggering sideways before finally collapsing.

Looking, he saw Munch and Melt engaging in two nerubians at one time, Jayde fighting two as well, and Darion fighting the last of them. Salranax stayed in the back, shouting unintelligible orders and throwing the odd fireball at whoever he could. It occasionally hit one of the death knights, but it appeared to do little damage. _He's a leader of Scourgeholm?_ Danthor thought. _They're not even paying him any mind._

Encouraged by that fact, Danthor was emboldened enough to try and take the flesh render on by himself. With a cry of battle, the knight charged towards Salranax, sword and shield at the ready. The vargul noticed Danthor and conjured up two fireballs, throwing them both at the same time. Danthor dodged the first and blocked the second, never stopping his momentum. When he was close enough, Danthor shoved his sword forward in a stabbing motion.

His sword hit Salranax just above his waist, sinking in. He heard the flesh render give a small grunt of pain, but he didn't move. Instead, he gripped Danthor's blade with his right hand, keeping it in place. Danthor tried to pull it out, but it just wouldn't budge. He looked up at Salranax's one burning eye and twisted grin. He held out his left hand right in front of the knight, and before Danthor could raised his shield up to do anything, he was blasted with a powerful icy gale.

_Cone of cold,_ Danthor thought as he was flying through the air. Lethella had told him about the spell once, and he'd seen her use it a few times.

He landed hard on his back, right on his old wound, sending pain throughout his entire body. So much so that Danthor feared he actually _was_ paralyzed. He was winded for a second, taking a deep and audible breath. After that came his cry of pain, and after that his limbs flailed around and his fears of being paralyzed were assuaged. He lifted his head to see Salranax striding towards him, his sword still lodged in his stomach.

_What is this?_ he found himself thinking. _He looked so weak when fighting with the death knights, but his spells pack a real punch._

Next thing he knew, Salranax the Flesh Render was standing over him. Danthor raised his shield feebly to try and stop him, but the vargul kicked it out of his hand with a passing glance. Still grinning that horrible grin, he held his right hand out in front of Danthor's face. A fireball formed. "Die in the name of the Lich King, worm!"

_Ironic to be killed by such a spell._ Danthor could have laughed if he wasn't so terrified.

One of Darion's runeblades swung through the air and cut Salranax's right arm off at the elbow. The fireball instantly faded to nothing as his arm hit the ground. Salranax cried out in pain and turned to see the highlord of the Ebon Blade standing there. _"YOU—"_

Darion's other runeblade plunged through Salranax's throat. He gave a small death gurgle before the light in his left eye faded. Darion sheathed his blades and extended an arm out to Danthor, which he gladly took. He looked and saw that Jayde and Munch (and Melt) were just finishing up their kills as well.

"You okay?" Darion's voice was gruff, yet not unkind.

Danthor's back sang out in pain and he nearly had his head blown off by a fireball, so he was pretty far from okay. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Munch grunted as he saw Salranax's corpse. "These leaders are all talk and no action. I was expecting much more."

"Now don't be so quick to say that," Jayde interjected, looking at the knight. "Salranax _did_ almost kill our poor Danthor here." Munch laughed at that.

_It's not that Salranax was weak,_ Danthor thought. _They're just so strong that they could afford to ignore him. I'm not in the company of ordinary people._

Darion ignored the two and looked at the sky. Danthor could see no sun, and thus couldn't distinguish what time of day it was. Darion apparently could, because he looked at Jayde and Munch and said, "Sun's going down. Let's camp here tonight and go after Underking Talonox in the morning."

"Sounds good to me," Munch said.

The two death knights began moving towards the mountain face to their left. Darion wrenched Danthor's sword out of Salranax then handed it to him. He motioned towards the shield the flesh render kicked a few feet away. "You'll want to get that."

Danthor nodded. _I'll have to be more careful._

* * *

><p><em>This is no place to let your guard down . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	63. An Audience With the King

Earning a well-deserved rest. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>63: An Audience With the King<span>**

They chose a small enclave nestled into the rock face that marked the end of the third level of Scourgeholm. Not easily seen by the undead unless scrutinized from a specific angle, Darion Mograine deemed them safe enough and had a fire lit. "I'll take first watch," Munch said. "Get some sleep."

That night, Danthor dreamt of the Scarlet Enclave. Instead of seeing its greenery and splendor like how he tried to remember it when conscious, Danthor saw it as a wasteland with fires raging all around him. To his right was the Scarlet Hold, smashed into nothing; to his left was the Scarlet Tavern, razed to the ground; behind him was King's Harbor, four ships waiting to leave for Northrend; and right in front of him stood Grand Admiral Barean Westwind and Lethella Borman.

_"That's not right,"_ Danthor had said, remembering the scene as it really played out. _"It should be Darion and Jadorra standing in both your places."_

One thing was correct, though. Instead of his trademark rapier, Westwind was holding the corrupted Ashbringer, like Highlord Mograine on that fateful day. The grand admiral looked at Danthor incredulously, saying, _"What, you really think I care? I've been deceiving you mortals since before you were born. Why should I start caring about your feelings now?"_

Lethella eyed Danthor suspiciously. _"The real question is: Why were you so useless? You couldn't even beat someone like Jadorra, but you were given a leadership role in the Scarlet Crusade? Small wonder you were too weak to save me."_

_"No, that's not . . ."_ Danthor started, trying to find the right words.

While he was trying to think of what to say, Westwind, quick as lightning, shoved the corrupted Ashbringer through Lethella's chest. She gave out a small grunt before turning to Danthor, her eyes widening. Her mouth started to move, but Danthor couldn't understand what she was saying. As Westwind pulled the blade out, she burst into flames.

_"Too easy,"_ Westwind said, turning towards Danthor and raising the blade up. _"Let's see if you fare any better!"_

As he swung the corrupted Ashbringer down, Danthor awoke, sitting bolt upright and panting. The fire was burning low at this point and the night air was cold, but he was still covered in sweat. He must have been sleeping for a while too, because now it was Darion taking the watch.

"Nightmares." It wasn't a question.

Danthor could only nod.

Darion shifted a bit. "Wish I could say it gets better, but in my experience, it doesn't."

"What do you mean?" Danthor noticed a kinder tone in his voice, as if the moonlight had made him more understanding than he normally was.

Darion scoffed. "What do you think I mean? Nightmares only mean one thing: regret in our past. We wish we could do things differently, but it's impossible to change, and our dreams serve as a constant reminder of our failure."

"You have regrets in your past?" Even as he was asking it, Danthor knew it was a stupid question.

Darion shrugged. "Everyone does. I just have more than most. It started when I decided to plunge my father's blade through my heart and join the Lich King, and from there it's one mistake after another, cutting you down at the Enclave included."

"The Ashbringer, you mean," Danthor said.

Instinctively, Darion moved his hand to grasp the hilt of one of the runeblades strapped to his back, as if the corrupted Ashbringer was still there. "I've shamed my father's memory by wielding it," he said. "It's in better hands now. A small price to pay for realizing the light of dawn. All we can do is try to make amends and make up for our mistakes."

"For what it's worth, I forgive you for attacking me."

Darion turned to look at Danthor quizzically. After a few seconds, he simply shrugged. "Well that's one less thing to worry about, I guess. Now get some sleep—we've got a long day ahead of us."

— — —

"The Pit of Fiends."

Jayde's words resonated throughout the entire group. The noonday sun was barely shining through the dense clouds in the sky, but the little that shone through was enough for Danthor, who shivered when he saw the Pit. On the uppermost level of Scourgeholm, the Pit of Fiends (as Darion had called it) was a bit away from the rest of the stronghold. Following a single path that led north took the four of them to a circular, barren wasteland flanked by two modest-sized cliffs.

"The underking is here?" Munch asked.

Darion nodded solemnly. "No doubt about it."

"Then where is he?" chanced Danthor.

Aside from a single wooden pole sticking up in the middle of the Pit that bared an ancient nerubian sigil on it, the circular arena was empty. The only signs of life were a few holes in the ground, and even those looked unmoved for days. The highlord of the Ebon Blade moved forward, into the circular pit. "There's a reason Talonox is called the _under_king, you know. He's a crypt lord—a subterranean nerubian who spends most of his time underground. When he comes up for fresh air, though, this is where he always turns out."

"A lot of good that does us now," Jayde said, stepping inside the Pit as well. "Who knows when Talonox is gonna show up here."

"He'll come." Darion's voice left no doubt. "It's just a matter of time."

Munch shrugged and walked inside as well. Danthor looked at the ancient sigil—an upside-down nerubian that clung to the pole—and knew something was off. He normally trusted Darion's word on Scourge matters, but after seeing how old those burrow holes looked, he started to question. "How long, do you think?" the knight asked.

"Not long," Darion replied, walking closer to the pole and sigil. He ran a gauntleted hand down the wooden shaft, staring at the nerubian's mark. "Talonox prefers to stay underground, true enough, but even he must come up for air at some time. And he always comes here."

"Now get in here before a patrol sees you," Munch said, beckoning Danthor to come into the pit. "We can camp here for the night, if needed."

Danthor took one last fleeting glance at the rest of Scourgeholm behind them before sighing and taking a step inside . . .

No sooner did Danthor get ten feet into the Pit than a group of ghouls and skeletons burst out of the ground at both the entrance and exit (the path continued on the other side of the Pit and led deeper into Icecrown), forming a protective barrier and barring them into the arena. But they didn't move.

All four immediately drew their weapons at the sight, and that's when they heard the cold laugh from above. Stepping towards the edge of the cliff that surrounded the Pit of Fiends was the Lich King himself. Fully garbed in his saronite plate with Frostmourne at his side, he looked down at them. "Caught like rats."

Danthor felt a shiver run through him. The crusader he rescued from Scourgeholm was right—the area _does_ get colder when the Lich King is near. "You!" Darion spat, taking a step forward. "Why are _you_ here?"

"Don't be a fool, Darion," the Lich King said. "Who do you think tipped Salranax off that you were coming? I never left this place, and I was always keeping an eye on you."

"Then why haven't you stopped us sooner?" demanded Jayde.

The Lich King gave a small shrug. "If the leaders of Scourgeholm couldn't take care of the likes of you, then I have no need for them. I must say, though, you've all performed admirably so far. You have my congratulations."

"And I'll have your head!" Darion yelled, his two runeblades held out in front of him. "Get down here and fight, coward, and prepare to answer for your crimes against the Mograines!"

The Lich King tittered. "No, I think I'll pass, highlord. Instead, I'll let someone else champion for me." He drew Frostmourne and pointed at the ground beneath the group's feet. "Rise from the depths, Underking Talonox, and slay your foes in the name of the Lich King!"

The ground beneath Danthor began to rumble. The pole tilted slightly as a hole appeared a few feet away from them, and out popped Talonox. As a crypt lord, he was different than most nerubians. The lower-half of his body looked like that of a common nerubian (save for the bulkier and more armored legs), while the top half of his body looked like that of a stag beetle. Small, translucent wings fluttered under the creature's green- and brown-colored carapace. Place at the top of his head (or what Danthor at least thought _looked_ like his head) was a large and sharp-looking horn.

"It would be my honoooooooor, my kiiiiiiiiiiiiing," Talonox said, his voice giving a wavering, insect-like quality. "I shalllllll leave no survivooooooors!"

Danthor, Jayde, Munch, and Darion moved close together, all their weapons drawn and raised as Talonox moved closer to them, the ground rumbling slightly with his every step. "My ghouls won't intervene, but they won't move either," the Lich King said, motioning towards the undead that blocked both avenues of escape. "There's no hope of escape, so give me a good show."

Talonox's wings fluttered as he moved first, barreling towards the group. "Move!" Darion yelled, and at once all four of them leapt away, leaving Talonox to gore the air with his horn. He barely stopped before hitting the cliff face.

"One hit from that tusk and you're dead!" Munch yelled.

"His armor looks tough, too," Jayde added.

Darion spat on the ground and said, "Give me one good strike and I'll crack that carapace in two!"

Underking Talonox turned himself around at this point and aimed at his next foe, his head pointed downwards. He faced Danthor. The knight could barely keep down a gulp before the crypt lord moved again. Danthor stood his ground, waiting, waiting . . . until the last second when he moved to his side. As the underking passed him, Danthor tried to land a blow, but his sword just glanced his armor (_It _is_ tough,_ he thought as he did it) and the attack lost Danthor his balance. He hopped on his feet as he kept reeling backwards in an attempt to regain it, but in the ended he fell to the ground. His back screamed in pain as he did it. _I've gotta stop falling like that,_ he thought as he saw Talonox skid to a stop, almost hitting the rock face again.

That's when Munch and Jayde leapt in, their runeblades ready. The runes on Jayde's blade glowed brightly as she prepared to strike from above. Munch moved from below, his axe glowing in a similar fashion. Jayde struck first, hitting Talonox right near his wings. "Rune Strike!" she yelled as her blade struck against the carapace, leaving little damage.

Munch moved next, striking at one of Talonox's legs with his axe, putting all his strength into it. "Blood Strike!"

Like Jayde's, Munch's attack left a small crack in the underking's armored body, but did little else. Both death knights moved back, incredulous. "No way!" Jayde said.

"Move aside!"

Darion Mograine came bounding past them, his two runeblades at the ready, but before he could strike, Talonox had positioned himself in front of all three of them and rushed towards them. Jayde and Munch moved out of the way, and Darion managed to side-step the attack just in time, receiving only a glancing blow towards his side that sent him to the ground. He quickly recovered.

"Quit mooooooooving, you cowaaaaaaaaaards," mewled Talonox, moving around to position himself again.

"This isn't working!" Danthor yelled, back on his feet again. He started moving towards the three death knights. "We need to get him completely wide open for Darion to strike. Only a simultaneous attack from both runeblades could break his armor, I think."

"So it would seem," Munch said, with a sad inflection in his voice.

"How do we do that?" asked Jayde.

Danthor motioned towards the cliff face behind them. "We get him to crash into that, and once he's dazed Darion can move in for the kill."

"For such a plan to work," Darion said, "we'd need a decoy."

All three death knights looked at Danthor at the same time. He sighed. _Fuck you all._ "Fine, I'll do it, but I don't wanna be on my own with this one."

A smile appeared on Jayde's face. "Don't worry, we'll have your back. You just need to stand there."

"We'd need something to get his blood boiling," Darion commented as he saw Talonox staring at them, preparing to move. He looked at the orc. "Munch?"

Munch grinned wolfishly. "Leave that to me, highlord!"

He sheathed his two-handed axe and moved towards the underking. Both Jayde and Mograine moved as well. "Stay right there," the female blood elf said.

"Not like I can do much else." Danthor shook his head and sheathed his sword.

Munch stopped near Talonox and held both his arms out. His blue eyes started glowing brightly as a red tinge of magic appeared around both his hands. "Blood Boil!" he yelled.

Munch's dark magic had an effect on Talonox, for as soon as the orc said those words, the crypt lord began swaying from side to side and shrieking. "_Aiiiiiieeeeeee! _What foul magic is this?"

"What's he doing?" Danthor asked.

"He's raising the temperature of Talonox's blood," Jayde commented. "It won't kill him, but it'll sure work him into a frenzy."

The Lich King was tired of watching such foolishness. "Talonox!" he yelled. "Stop toying with them and finish them off! Your king commands it!"

"Yessssssssss, my kiiiiiiiing," Talonox said, as he turned towards the first target he could find. Munch had moved out of the way, so that left Danthor, only a few feet in front of the cliff face. "I'll slaughter them alllllllll for in your naaaaame!"

He reared forward and charged like a bull. Like before, Danthor stood his ground. _Not quite,_ he thought. _Don't lose your nerve. Keep holding . . . holding . . . NOW!_

Just as Talonox was about to skewer the knight, Danthor dove out of the way. He escaped a blow from the underking, but landed on his side in a painful manner. He couldn't help but cry out in pain. The crypt lord was preparing to stop like usual, but Jayde held out both her arms and aimed it at the ground in front of Talonox.

"Oh no you don't!" she said. "Path of Frost!"

The barren ground beneath Talonox frosted over and turned into slick ice. Unprepared, Talonox skittered in an attempt to stop, but kept moving towards the side of the cliff. With a high-pitched shriek, the underking slammed into the side of the cliff on which the Lich King was standing. Such force was put behind the blow that Talonox's horn rammed into the rock, cracking it. _"Aiiiiiieeeeeeee!"_

"Now!" Darion roared. He jumped into the air and rocketed towards Talonox's armored back, with his wings fluttering in an erratic fashion, both his runeblades ready. "Take this! Obliterate!"

Both of Darion's runeblades struck at the same time with such force that it shattered Talonox's carapace. Chunks of it flew into the air as his insect-like wings were torn to shreds. When Darion landed, all that remained of his back was a bloody mess. The pain was apparently so great that Talonox gave another shriek and wrenched his head to the side. So powerful was his desire to move backwards that his horn broke off and stayed lodged inside the rock.

Blood gushed from Underking Talonox's head as he staggered backwards, mewling in pain. He took four uneasy steps backwards before finally dropping to the floor and letting out a death shudder. Danthor stared at his body as his legs gave out spastic little kicks. _Another servant of the Lich King killed,_ he thought, looking at the ghouls and skeletons surrounding them. _But so many more still remain . . ._

No sooner had Talonox loosed his final breath did Darion point one of his bloodied runeblades towards the Lich King, who was scowling down at them. "You may be too much of a coward to fight us today, _king_, but soon enough you'll face the full might of Mograine!"

Surprisingly, the Lich King smiled. "I look forward to that day, _highlord_. The day when I'll rip out all of your hearts and have you serve me as one of the damned!"

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><p><em>A hollow victory in the presence of the Lich King.<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	64. The Decision

Back to the Vanguard . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>64: The Decision<span>**

Highlord Tirion Fordring paced back and forth restlessly at his command center in the Argent Vanguard. Father Gustav and Crusader Commander Entari stood anxiously on the other side of the table where they had their battle plans drawn up, waiting for a response. Finally, they got one.

"Are you sure this is the best course of action?"

It was Gustav who nodded. He pointed to one of the many documents strewn about on the table. "Crusade Architect Silas and Crusade Engineer Spitzpatrick have signed off on the materials and fuel needed to begin construction of Justice Keep. I have even chosen the site where we will break ground."

Tirion sighed. Silas the Forsaken and Spitzpatrick the gnome seldom agreed on anything when it came to architecture and design, so to get an endorsement from _both_ of them was certainly a convincing offer. Still, there was something that didn't seem right, some final trepidation that was holding him back.

"With all due respect, highlord," Entari said, "the site Gustav has proposed would leave us more vulnerable than even the Vanguard. We'd have no mountain and a narrow path to protect us from the full might of Scourgeholm if we build Justice Keep on a mountain _overlooking_ the Scourge stronghold."

Gustav merely shook his head. "That's exactly the point. With such barriers between the Vanguard and Scourgeholm, we cannot hope to defeat the undead. It's time we chose a new base and move on to the next step of cleansing the land. Besides, Highlord Mograine and his death knights—"

"—have yet to return from their mission," Entari interrupted. "We've had no word on their activities for a whole day. For all we know they could be dead and that Scarlet spy could be miles away, giving away all our secrets."

Tirion found himself instinctively touching the hilt of Ashbringer. Entari was a good, solid crusade commander—competent and loyal to a fault, but even he crossed the line sometimes. There was no denying that his argument was compelling, however. The highlord looked behind the two crusaders giving him counsel, out into the Valley of Echoes. They were still cleaning up the mess from the Battle of the Vanguard out there and rebuilding parts of their base, but it was quiet for the most part. It was that quiet that unnerved Tirion.

"With all due respect, crusade commander, you don't know that." Tirion could see that Father Gustav was getting slightly strained by their argument. "If Mograine does manage to kill the leaders of Scourgeholm, then there's no better time to build Justice Keep and attack!"

"That's a big _if_," Entari added.

Gustav ignored him and looked at Tirion. "Highlord Fordring, please, truly you must see the advantage in striking while the iron's hot. I fear that if we don't act now, more innocent lives will suffer at the hands of Scourgeholm."

Tirion nodded. "I understand your plea, Gustav, I truly do, but Entari has a good point as well. If we build a half-fortified base right at Scourgeholm's doorstep, we may very well be opening ourselves up to more danger, and that would leave to more innocent lives suffering."

Tirion could see that Entari was smiling. The highlord sighed. A truly loyal crusader and friend, indeed, but that didn't mean he couldn't be grating.

"In any case," Tirion continued, "until we have definitive news of what's happened to Darion's party, I cannot in good faith—"

Crusader Lord Dalfors rode towards the three of them on his ram. He quickly dismounted and saluted, saying, "Apologies for the interruption, highlord, but I've come to deliver news that Highlord Mograine and his party has been spotted riding through the Breach not fifteen minutes ago."

"What?" Entari looked genuinely surprised. Tirion took a little pleasure in seeing such a look on his face. "What news do they bring?"

"One of victory," Dalfors said. He turned to Tirion and grinned wolfishly. "But you can ask them all about that yourself in a few minutes. They're riding to talk to you directly."

Tirion nodded. "Very good. I look forward to their report."

Within ten minutes, Highlord Darion Mograine, Jayde, Munch, and Danthor (doubling with Munch on his deathcharger) all rode in to meet Tirion. The three death knights dismounted their deathchargers and sent them back to the Realm of Shadows.

"Highlord Mograine, it's a pleasure to see you," Tirion had said. He was flanked by Entari, Dalfors, and Gustav. "You're looking well."

Darion didn't have his saronite warhelm on, revealing his pale, haggard face and matted light-orange hair. "Don't lie. We all look like shit. We've been riding for a full six hours now just to get out of that blasted place."

Tirion looked at the four he had sent in Scourgeholm. They did look a little worse for wear, that was true. The death knights Jayde and Munch had a few new cuts adorning their face, while Danthor's armor was ripped and dented. "Ah," Tirion said. "I should hope such a speedy expedition out of Scourgeholm doesn't mean a failure."

Darion shook his head. "No, we did what you asked. All three of Scourgeholm's leaders are dead—Yath'amon, Salranax, and Talonox."

"Praise the Light, that's great news," Father Gustav said.

"Not all of it, I'm afraid," Jayde said.

The four crusaders looked at the three death knights and one warrior quizzically. "What do you mean?" Entari asked.

"We came face-to-face with the Lich King," Munch said with his usual gruff and blunt tone. "It wasn't a pretty sight."

Tirion found himself touching the hilt of Ashbringer. "Are you sure?"

"It's pretty hard to mistake anyone for the Lich King," Danthor said, a little too harshly. "Yes, we're sure it was him, and he wasn't too pleased to see us, that's for sure."

"What happened, lad?" Dalfors asked.

It was Darion who answered. "The Lich King had been watching us the entire time we were in Scourgeholm. He was _testing his men's worth_, as he put it. He had Talonox fight us as his champion to see if we were as skilled as he thought."

"And he didn't fight you after you killed Talonox?" Tirion asked.

Darion shook his head. "He seemed to find the whole thing amusing. After we killed the underking, he simply let us go, despite my challenge to fight and end it once and for all. Still, we rode back here as fast as we could."

"Arthas refused to fight you?" Tirion sounded surprised.

Entari stepped forward. "Highlord, there are more pressing matters that need to be addressed. The most important of which being that the Lich King is still at Scourgeholm. Surely even with that information, we have to call the creation of Justice Keep off until we can—"

"The Lich King is a coward," Danthor said loudly. Everyone looked at him. "He could've had us all killed, but he let us go. He's not stupid and must've seen us as a threat, but he refused our challenge to fight. That means he's afraid of us."

"Interesting thought," Gustav said, rubbing his chin.

Dalfors grinned widely at it. "Ah, never thought I'd hear that one. The Lich King a _coward_? Now ain't that a laugh!"

"I agree with Danthor," Darion said. "He tried his best not to show it, but when we killed Talonox, I saw a certain fear in his eyes. He fears the Argent Crusade and Knights of the Ebon Blade, I'm sure of it. I'm surprised he hasn't fled Scourgeholm yet."

That decided it. Highlord Tirion Fordring looked at Gustav and said, "Father, make all the necessary preparations for the journey and creation of Justice Keep."

"Highlord Fordring—Tirion . . ." Entari said. "With all due respect, I don't think this is the wisest course of—"

"It may not be, Entari," Tirion said, "but I'm willing to hedge my bets on Danthor and Darion's thoughts. I never thought I'd see it, but I know that Arthas is capable of fear—of the Crusade and Ashbringer, mostly. By creating Justice Keep right over Scourgeholm, we'd be sending a clear message that he can either run or fight. Given how carelessly he's allowed his leaders of the base to be killed, I'm willing to bet he'd run."

Crusader Lord Dalfors knelt in front of Tirion and said, "Highlord Fordring, I'd be honored if you'd allow me to lead the assault to create Justice Keep. I swear I will not fail you."

Tirion nodded. "I couldn't think of a better choice. Rise, Dalfors." He looked at the four ragged men standing across from him and said, "As for all of you, I'd say you've earned yourself a break. You can go rest up and prepare for—"

"I want to go," Danthor said.

Tirion cocked his head at the knight. "The attack will take place at dawn—in only a few hours. Surely you'd prefer to rest yourself up for the next attack we're planning."

Danthor shook his head. "No, seeing the Lich King has only strengthened my resolve to see Scourgeholm fall. I'd like to help you in your creation of Justice Keep."

Jayde smirked. "The boy may be dumb, but no one can doubt his bravery."

"He fought bravely enough at Scourgeholm, that's true," Darion added.

Dalfors looked up at Tirion. "I'd be more than happy to let Danthor into our ranks. He may not win the battle for us, but more hands can only help."

Entari looked incredulous. "Tirion, we're still as of yet unsure of the boy's intentions. Besides, he—"

"Danthor volunteering for such a dangerous mission has just cleared him of all suspicions in my mind," Tirion said decisively. He looked at the knight square in the eyes. "Your assistance has been integral in securing the front. The first true victory of the war is close at hand—which is why our next step is the most crucial. Rest assured, the Scourge will not give up without a fight. This will be your most difficult challenge yet; I want you to understand that."

Danthor nodded. "I understand. I still wish to help."

"Very well. You'll be under the command of Crusader Lord Dalfors, and the attack will happen at the crack of dawn. Rest up until then."

"Allow me to see to your wounds," Father Gustav said, walking towards Danthor.

The knight smiled. "It's nothing really, though if you could do something about my back . . ."

When they were gone, only Tirion and Entari were left. "Highlord Fordring, I must say that—"

"Tirion. I was liking your familiarity."

Entari nodded. "Tirion, I'm afraid I still must protest to it all. Sending a strike team to establish the ground for Justice Keep—and allowing a suspected spy besides—the whole mission speaks of folly."

"It may very well be folly, I grant you that," Tirion said, looking out at the Valley and darkening sky. "But I trust those men, Entari, and I can't believe that the Light would allow such good people to die."

Crusade Commander Entari lowered his head. "If this is truly your wish, Tirion, then I will support you."

The highlord smiled and touched Entari on the shoulder. "I know you will, Entari, and I thank you for your counsel. That's why you're one of my most trusted advisors."

— — —

The dawn came too early for Danthor. _I should've gotten more sleep,_ he thought, rubbing his left eye with the back of his gauntleted hand. Gustav treated most of his wounds last night—treated enough to fight, anyway—though his back still gave a twinge of pain every now and then. The sky was dark, but it was becoming lighter over time, and the sun would soon be upon them. _Not over Scourgeholm, though. It never appears over Scourgeholm._

To his right was Crusader Sunborn, dressed in his finest Argent Crusade attire. Instead of holding a mace and shield (both of which were sheathed), however, he was holding a banner of the Argent Crusade. It swayed against the light wind—it was long, rectangular, with a golden disk (etched with the hand of the Ashbringer, of course) and a black sunburst set against its white background.

"They chose you as their standard bearer?" Danthor asked. "I don't know whether that's an honor or an insult."

"An honor, for sure," Sunborn said, looking up at the banner lazily flapping in the wind. "Father Gustav has blessed this banner himself. With it, he says, we should be able to sanctify the blighted land of Scourgeholm."

Danthor had enough firsthand experience with some of Gustav's blessed items to half believe Sunborn, though he was still a bit skeptical. _It's still too soon since the betrayal,_ he thought sullenly. _Too soon since Lethella and Jonas died to put my full faith back into the Light._

Crusader Lord Dalfors was slowly walking his ram down the battle line, inspecting every crusader placed before him. There were twenty of them altogether, including Danthor and Sunborn. Dalfors himself made the twenty-first. The strike team was composed mostly of dwarven, elven, and human Argent battle-priests, which Danthor thought was essentially a paladin. They certainly dressed like one, with white plate mail and armed with a white shield and hammer.

Danthor himself was still using a shield of the Argent Crusade—white with a golden trim and sun at its center. He felt more comfortable with a sword, however, so that's what he wore on his hip. Behind the twenty battle-priests were fifteen Argent masons, meant to carry all the supplies needed to build Justice Keep. They each carried a torch in one hand and a cart full of masonry in the other.

"Argent Crusaders!" Crusader Lord Dalfors voice was crisp and powerful. "I look before you all and see a group of brave men and women! Aye, you have a right to be afraid—I'm afraid myself—but just beyond that path"—he pointed to the Breach—"lies a hill that overlooks all of Scourgeholm. Crusaders' Pinnacle, the Scourge call it. Not because the undead have respect for our strength and fortitude, but because that's the spot where they plant the skulls of our fallen crusaders!"

The Argent banner gave a small sound as it flapped against the wind.

"You're allowed to be afraid, aye," Dalfors continued, "but I ask that as you climb and defend that hilltop against the Scourge that are sure to come, you look at that pile of skulls and remember why we're fighting the Scourge! We're fighting them to free all races of Azeroth from the fear the Lich King has brought upon us, and taking the Pinnacle and creating Justice Keep is just the first step. So I ask, will you fight against the Scourge with me?"

The crusaders and masons gave a rousing cheer. Dalfors turned his back towards them and faced the Breach. _Here we go,_ Danthor thought.

"Then follow me, lads! If the Lich King hopes to challenge us, we'll give him a fight he'll never forget!"

* * *

><p><em>The battle for Crusader's Pinnacle begins!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	65. The Battle for Crusaders' Pinnacle

Let the battle begin! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>65: The Battle for Crusaders' Pinnacle<span>**

Travelling to the Crusaders' Pinnacle didn't take very long, but the mountain path that led up to it was very steep.

The Pinnacle is a snow-covered plateau carved out comfortably against one of the mountains connected to the Breach that overlooks all of Scourgeholm. Once the group of twenty-one Argent crusaders and fifteen Argent masons filed through the narrow mountain path known as the Breach, Crusader Lord Dalfors swung an immediate left, leading the group up a mountain path that led to the Pinnacle.

It was dark, cold, and windy as the group trekked up the icy mountain path. It was still dark enough where Danthor could barely see the top of the Pinnacle—the place where Justice Keep would be built. Bracing the wind against his face, Danthor looked down over the mountain path and saw all of Scourgeholm. They were lucky they weren't spotted when they entered the undead territory (for Crusaders' Pinnacle was indeed a part of Scourgeholm), but upon further inspection Danthor saw very few Scourge shambling along the lower sections of the stronghold.

It made him feel both relieved and terrified. _They must be planning something,_ he thought as he saw his breath every time he exhaled. _The Lich King's still probably here, and he won't let us take the Pinnacle so easily._

Crusader Sunborn, who was at Danthor's left and holding the Argent banner, looked over the edge of the path as well. "That's a pretty big drop," he commented as they were about halfway up the path. "The Scourge are probably too clumsy to keep their balance and not fall off. Would explain why no one's here."

_Or they're setting a trap._ "Let us hope . . ."

Whether or not the sun was out by the time they reached the top of Crusaders' Pinnacle, Danthor couldn't say. What he could say was that the plateau was, for all intents and purposes, abandoned. The group was greeted with a single Scourge banner, tattered and forgotten and flowing freely in the wind. Atop the banner was a horned animal's skull, but the cloth itself was so faded that Danthor couldn't properly make out the white Scourge sigil against the dark purple background.

Mountains surrounded the back half of the Pinnacle, while the front half was open and overlooking the undead base below. _At least we only have to worry about an attack from one side._ Danthor immediately took that thought back when he saw that on the other side of the plateau was another snowy path that led down into Scourgeholm. It made the knight feel less secure.

The winds kicked up slightly as they passed by a single abandoned tent, held down by stakes. Two unlit torches stood immobile near the edge of the Pinnacle, each near a path that led down into Scourgeholm. What really drew everyone's attention was the circular stone altar engraved with ancient runes that laid beneath three dark, tall, gnarled, and leafless trees near the back of the Pinnacle. Just getting near it was enough to make a hardened crusader feel uneasy, as strings of green light floated from the altar up towards the trees.

"What do you think it's for?" Sunborn asked.

Danthor shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We'll take it out while building Justice Keep."

"Halt." Dalfors stopped his ram in front of the altar. He dismounted and kneeled down in front of the circular slab of dark stone and runes. At first Danthor didn't know what he was doing, but then he saw the pile of skulls that were placed right in front of the altar. Dalfors lightly picked one up and inspected it. "They're crusader bones, alright."

The wind blew and the ancient trees groaned. The noise made Danthor look up at them, and that's when he saw it. "By the Light . . ." he said.

Hanging from all three trees were several Argent crusaders—stripped, bound by their hands and feet, and hung by their necks. Their skin was blue and rotting and their lifeless eyes stared down at the strike team. Now Danthor knew what the Scourge did to those crusaders they didn't want to raise from the dead. _Crusaders' Pinnacle, indeed,_ he thought solemnly.

"BY THE LIGHT!" The crusader lord's eyes went wide at the sight of so many dead comrades. He gently set the skull he was holding down and stood back up. "Those damned monsters! Look what they've done to our people!"

All around Danthor could hear the crusaders muttering. Some even got onto their knees and retched. Danthor wished he could've responded like them, but he'd seen much worse in his tenure with the Scarlet Crusade to buckle his knees at the sight of hanged men.

Dalfors motioned towards the masons who were standing near the end of the path. "Burn it down, boys! Burn it all down!"

All at once, the fifteen Argent masons they'd brought along lit the torches they were holding. Suddenly there was light at the Pinnacle. Within seconds, the masons threw their torches and set blazes to the tent and trees. A few wise ones didn't throw theirs and set fire to the Scourge banner and the two unlit torches. The old trees and tent went up immediately, creating a blaze of light that could no doubt be seen from all of Scourgeholm.

_If that doesn't attract their attention,_ Danthor thought, _nothing will._

Dalfors motioned to Crusader Sunborn, saying, "Plant the banner in this pile of skulls, lad. Its power should remove the taint that altar has brought forth."

Sunborn did as he was commanded, rushing forward with the banner and planting it firmly in the middle of the pile of skulls. Once the banner was in place, a slightly yellow glow began to emanate around it. Danthor's eyes went wide at the sight. _It's just from the fires,_ the skeptical side of himself thought. _The fires are giving it that glow._

Then the sickeningly green strings of light floating up from the altar stopped, and the snow beneath the banners and skulls began to melt, showing the gray hard rock underneath. "By the Light," Danthor found himself whispering.

He didn't have anymore time to marvel at the sight, as he and the rest of the crusaders heard footsteps plodding up the icy path. "Crusader lord!" an Argent battle-priest said as he ran up to them. "The Scourge are marching up the mountain path!"

"How many?" The dwarf's face was grim and hard-set.

"Too many to count," he said. "Ghouls, mostly."

"Masons, gather 'round the banner!" Dalfors yelled. "You'll be our last line of defense in case the rest of us fall! No matter what happens, don't let that banner go down!"

As the masons gathered around the Argent banner, Dalfors moved towards the battle-priests who were gathering near the path they just walked up.

"Form a defensive line!" he ordered. "Be ready to unleash the Light's fury on those ghouls at my command! I don't want a single undead getting onto the Pinnacle!"

Danthor and Sunborn formed up with the rest of the battle-priests. Though as Danthor couldn't cast any spells, he was delegated towards the back. Still, he could see the Scourge threat encroaching upon them. There were a large group of ghouls, tightly packed and about halfway up the mountain path as the defensive line formed. That didn't bother Danthor as much as the sight of their leader coming up behind the pack.

The Lich King walked slowly, his saronite armor gleaming as it reflected the fires. Danthor couldn't see his facial features beneath his helm, but he probably guessed that the Lich King was smiling. _Let's hope Tirion was right, and that the Lich King is actually a coward,_ the knight thought. _I don't fancy crossing blades with him today . . ._

"Hold steady," Dalfors said. He was standing next to Danthor. "Any one of you casts a judgment on those undead before I say so will be personally executed by me!"

The fires had reached a fever pitch when they saw the Lich King pull out Frostmourne and point it at the crusaders. _"LEAVE NO SURVIVORS!"_

"Let 'em come," Dalfors said through gritted teeth. "They'll pay for what they've done, but do not break this line! Hold steady . . . steady . . ."

The ghouls were three-quarters of the way up the path. So close now that the fire illuminated their rotting features. The Lich King stopped, however, halfway up the path, content with watching his minions move forward. _A good sign, at least,_ Danthor thought as he looked at Dalfors, who was raising his arm slowly.

"Hold . . . hold . . . NOW! Unleash the power of the Light on those bastards!"

All at once, the first ten battle-priests held out their glowing hands to unleash the power of judgment on the undead. All at once, the first row of ghouls were struck by a bright light and fell to the ground, letting out a small grunt of pain. The ghouls behind them didn't pay it any mind and continued moving over their fallen comrades.

The first ten battle-priests fell back as the nine remaining (the group that had Sunborn in it) moved forward and judged the next group. Nine more ghouls fell, but they kept getting closer. "Keep judgin' the bastards!" Dalfors yelled. "Don't give 'em a single inch!"

This method of the battle-priests judging, falling back so the next group can attack, and judging some more. They followed this method a good five times before a new group of Scourge rose in the place of the diminishing undead. This time, a group of skeletons rose up from the icy path and moved forward. They were dressed in plate that looked vaguely familiar.

The group of battle-priests stopped their constant stream of attacks, and Danthor heard uneasy whispers amongst them. "What is it?" Dalfors asked. "Why are you stopping?"

"It's just . . ." one of the battle-priests said, "_look_ at their armor!"

"What about it?"

"They're one of us," Sunborn said. "They're reanimated captains!"

Danthor looked and saw the familiar yellow shoulderpads and blue cloaks that captains of the Argent Crusade wore. "Pay it no mind!" Dalfors yelled, slightly taken aback. "They used to be one of us, but now they're under the Lich King's control. Only by killing 'em can we hope to grant them peace!"

Reluctantly, the battle-priests resumed their method of attack, but by then the skeletons and remaining ghouls had gotten close enough to be within striking distance. Danthor instinctively drew his sword and shield. Dalfors did the same, pointing his one-handed axe at the battle-priests.

"Shields out, now!" he bellowed. "Repel anyone who gets near!"

The ten battle-priests on the front immediately dropped to one knee and drew their shields, creating a wall of metal. Meanwhile, the nine battle-priests behind them continued judging the oncoming skeletons and ghouls . . . And then they were upon them.

The skeletons struck first, their bony fingers striking against the shields, some attacks so powerful they actually dented the metal. "Draw and strike!" Dalfors yelled.

At once, like a machine, the ten battle-priests pushed the skeletons and ghouls back, got onto both their feet, drew their hammers, and cracked their enemies across the skulls. Some fell, but some kept going.

And that's how the line broke.

"KILL 'EM ALL!" Dalfors yelled as he pushed forward to make it to the front lines. Danthor followed him. "TAKE THE PINNACLE FOR THE CRUSADE!"

The plateau erupted into a fury of hammers, shields, and spells. With such ferocity from the battle-priests, the skeletons and ghouls were pushed a little bit back, but the Lich King made sure they got constant reinforcements and eventually they began to make their way back up to the burning Pinnacle. Danthor found his way to the front line and immediately cut down the first ghoul he saw before bashing a skeleton in the head with one of his shields.

"Feast, my children!" he heard the Lich King yell. "Feast upon the flesh of the living!"

The reinforcements kept coming, and soon the group was being pushed back to the middle of the Pinnacle. Still, they lost very few battle-priests (only one or two at this point) and had the upper hand. Dalfors fought with the fury of ten crusaders, hitting the Scourge everywhere very quickly, jumping in to aid the battle-priests that needed the most help. Danthor and Sunborn were faring well, too, fighting side-by-side and cutting down any skeleton and ghoul that came in contact with them.

Then they heard the Lich King's booming voice again: "Cower before my terrible creations!"

Danthor looked up and his heart immediately sank. Bounding up the path with the fury of a tauren were three plague eruptors—some of the Lich King's most vile creations. The size of a tauren or large orc, a plague eruptor was a patchwork of purple rotting flesh, green boils that covered its body, claws and arms that were artificially extended, and tentacles that sprouted out of its neck and arms. And they were _big._

The three plague eruptors broke through what little defensive line the crusaders had left, swinging their long arms and sending battle-priests flying. "Focus on the eruptors!" Danthor heard Dalfors cry out as the dwarf rushed towards one of them, his axe and shield at the ready.

"Come on, let's help," Danthor said. Sunborn nodded.

The two rushed towards the closest eruptor they could find. It didn't seem to notice them at first, but when Danthor hacked at one of its arms and Sunborn smashed its knee with his hammer, it quickly took interest. Its skull-like face glowered at them as he let out a hideous roar, swinging his arm. Sunborn managed to duck and smash it in the side of its ribs. For all its strength, Danthor thanked the Light that the eruptors were slow.

Danthor was just thinking that as he saw one of the eruptor's tentacled arms fly towards him. He didn't have time to duck like Sunborn, so all he could do was raise his shield up and block the attack. He managed to do that, but the blow dented his shield and sent him flying backwards through the air. His back sang a song of pain as he landed near the banner where the fifteen masons were huddle around, some holding torches and pickaxes for defense.

Danthor groaned as he looked and saw that the banner was glowing a little brighter, and a large circle of snow (with the banner at the epicenter) had been melted away. The fires on the trees and tents were also starting to lessen as the gnarled branches crackled and fell upon the altar.

One of the masons helped him to his feet. Danthor thanked him and looked upon the battle to a pleasant surprise. Despite the eruptors entering the field, the Scourge were no longer getting reinforcements and it soon became clear that the battle-priests and Dalfors were winning.

"Lay down your arms and surrender your souls!" the Lich King yelled.

"THE MASTER'S WILL BE DONE! PREPARE FOR THE WRATH OF HALOF THE DEATHBRINGER!"

Strangely enough, Danthor heard that cry from _behind_ him. Then it all hit him at once. _The other path! By the Light they've snuck around us!_

He turned around to see a tall, blue-skinned and armored vrykul behind him, flanked by ghouls and skeletons. This Halof wore a plate helm that covered his entire head, save for his white braided beard. He dressed in light chainmail for the rest of his body, however. In his hands were two axes that would've taken Danthor two hands just to wield one.

_"DALFORS, BEHIND US!"_ the knight yelled.

Danthor's instincts kicked in and he moved towards Halof the Deathbringer. The vrykul roared at the knight and swung one of his axes, but Danthor was quick enough to duck this time and swing his sword at Halof's chest. The deathbringer knocked his strike away casually with one of his axes. All around them, the ghouls and skeletons were attacking the masons, who stood their ground and fought valiantly.

Halof swung both his axes at the same time this time, and Danthor rolled out of the way to avoid it, swinging his sword and lightly cutting his arm that was covered only by cloth. _At least he's not smart enough to wear plate,_ Danthor thought disjointedly as he moved to Halof's side. _The vrykul are a proud race, but pretty stupid._

He swung his sword again, this time tagging a hit at Halof's side. The vrykul roared and turned around, swinging his axe, but Danthor was on the move again. He struck Halof lightly in his calf before swinging his shield and hitting him square in the back. The deathbringer only moved forward slightly before regaining his ground and swinging around to strike.

Danthor was prepared to dodge again, but a skeleton appeared behind him and raked his bony fingers across the knight's shoulders, drawing blood. Danthor cried in pain and tried to move, but by then it was too late. One of Halof's axes struck Danthor square in the chest. Fortunately, the blade was blunted (_From years of neglect, no doubt,_ he thought), but the strike still collapsed his breastplate in on itself.

Danthor spat out blood and fell to one knee as Halof prepared his final strike. With a grin on his face, he raised his axe up . . .

. . . and Dalfors ran in, swinging his axe and hitting Halof right in his leg. The vrykul cried out in pain and dropped to one knee instinctively. Despite his difficulty breathing, Danthor moved up, letting out a roar and sending his sword point upwards. Before Halof could move, Danthor's blade cut through his white beard and slid in under his chin. The deathbringer gave a death rattle as blood (light-blue colored) ran from his mouth and stained his beard.

As Danthor pulled his blade out, Halof fell and the battle for the Crusaders' Pinnacle was won. Looking around, Danthor saw that the remaining battle-priests had finished all opposition on the original attack front before moving and sweeping over the opposition attempting to tear down the banner.

Still, Dalfors strode forward towards the end of the path and pointed his axe at the Lich King. "Crusaders' Pinnacle is ours! If you want to take it, you'll have to kill us yourself!"

_The moment of truth,_ Danthor thought. The trees were reduced to a smoldering ruin at this point.

The Lich King grinned at the crusader lord before saying, "Enjoy your victory while you can, crusaders, for it's a hollow one! Even taking all of Scourgeholm won't increase your chances of victory! Tell Fordring I'll be waiting for him in Icecrown Citadel!"

With that, the Lich King disappeared.

Danthor breathed a sigh of relief before he noticed something spectacular. Overhead, a ray of light was shining down on the Pinnacle. Danthor looked up and saw that directly above where the Argent banner was waving, the darkened sky that always loomed over Scourgeholm had broken, and for the first time the sun was shining through.

_The power of the Light . . . it's beautiful,_ Danthor thought as he closed his eyes.

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><p><em>The Crusade is victorious!<em>

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	66. Heading for the West Wind

In the aftermath of the battle . . . Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>66: Heading for the West Wind<span>**

Construction of Justice Keep had already begun when Highlord Tirion Fordring arrived, riding in on his horse Mirador. The Argent Crusade had decided to keep the name Crusaders' Pinnacle, as a testament to the bravery of all those who fought to claim the land in the name of the Light.

As soon as the Lich King disappeared, Crusader Lord Dalfors sent Crusader Sunborn back (riding Dalfors's own ram, no less) to the Vanguard to tell Tirion of the good news. It took the highlord about two days to make all the necessary arrangements to change the Crusade's main base of operations from the Vanguard to the Pinnacle. Still, when he finally _did_ arrive, the Crusade was already busy making Crusaders' Pinnacle into a respectable base.

Two Argent battle-priests stood guard on both pathways ("I don't want anymore sneak attacks from behind," Dalfors had said after the battle) and saluted when they saw Tirion riding towards them. The highlord had slowed to a trot at this point, and smiled at the two guards, saying, "At ease, crusaders. It's I who should be saluting you for displaying such bravery two days ago."

"We're honored, Highlord Fordring," one of the guards said.

Tirion nodded and moved on. In place of where the original Scourge banner had been, the banner of the Argent Crusade that Father Gustav had blessed was now standing, signaling to any who ride to the Pinnacle that the Crusade now owned this land. The rundown undead tent had also been replaced by a cluster of tents, no doubt where the crusaders slept. A few battle-priests were standing around the campfire in the middle of the cluster, chatting amiably. Only a few noticed Tirion as he rode by.

The most noticeable change, however, was a semi-completed stone tower, whose foundation stood right where the dark altar had been. No doubt Dalfors had the masons he'd taken working day and night, for it looked like the first level of the tower was already completed, with laborers standing on a wooden structure attached to the tower and dutifully laying stones down in an attempt to finish Justice Keep as soon as possible.

As soon as Dalfors noticed, he moved towards Tirion and greeted him heartily. "Highlord Fordring! It's great to see you finally come and visit our new base of operations!"

Tirion grinned and got off Mirador, allowing a crusader to take him to the stables that Penumbrius was already making for his skytalons. "It's all because of you and your men, my friend. The entire Argent Crusade has your thanks."

"Aye, it may have been me leading," Dalfors said, "but it was my men who made the whole thing possible. We lost seven battle-priests in that attack, not including the four masons. We've made sure they received a clean burial."

"I'm sure you have," Tirion said. "As I'm sure the battle was one to behold. When we're not in such pressing times, you'll have to tell me about it one day."

"I most definitely will." Dalfors looked at the semi-created Justice Keep to their right. "So whaddya think? I know she's not much to look at right now, but it's a start."

"I think you need to give your poor masons a break."

Dalfors laughed. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can resume fighting the Lich King and cleansing Scourgeholm. Speaking of which, that banner you gave us worked wonders. Be sure to thank Father Gustav next time you see him."

Tirion glanced towards the sky to see the sun shining down on the Pinnacle. Originally, the sky was too dark and overcast to let _anything_ shine through over Scourgeholm, but it looked like the banner really did work wonders. It was the only place near the undead stronghold that saw any sort of light. If that didn't draw the Scourge's attention, Tirion didn't know what will. "And the Lich King?"

"Ran like a baby! You were right, highlord, that man was a coward. He says he'll be happy to meet you in Icecrown Citadel, though."

"We're still a ways off from that," Tirion commented. He touched the hilt of Ashbringer. "Though you can rest assured, Dalfors, that the day is coming."

"It bloody well better be," Dalfors said. "That's the whole reason I signed up for the bloody Crusade."

That reminded Tirion. "Is there any news about Danthor?"

Dalfors nodded. "Aye, that bloody vrykul Halof near crushed his entire chest in, but that warrior's made of strong stuff and rammed his sword through Halof's brain. He's been recovering for the past few days."

Danthor, that wayward knight the Argent Crusade had found not more than two weeks ago. To think that he'd make such a difference . . . Tirion looked at Justice Keep. "In there?"

"Aye. Found a few others wounded out near the Broken Front. One's Alliance and one's Horde, so they argue nonstop. I've learned to ignore them at this point."

Tirion started walking towards Justice Keep. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks again, Dalfors."

"My pleasure." The crusader lord went back to work.

The foundation of Justice Keep was made of solid stone (not bricks, like the rest of the tower) and went up to Tirion's neck. Fortunately, a staircase was carved out that led into the entrance of the Keep. Two Crusade banners flanked both sides of the entrance. Tirion walked in to the sound of arguing.

"Cry to the heavens, Alliance filth!" Tirion heard a gruff orc voice say. The highlord was willing to bet he belonged to the Horde. "Pray that my wounds to not heal before yours!"

"Green-skinned dog!" the Alliance human shot back. "Be silent or I will cut your tongue out and feed it to your swine-like children!"

Both the orc and human were lying on a bunk-bed pushed into the corner of the room. The human was on the bottom bunk, bandaged just about every save for his head, yet still wearing the blue tabard with the white lion of the Alliance. The orc was much in the same condition, save he was wearing the red tabard with the white shield of the Horde.

"You have signed your own death warrant, mongrel!" the orc yelled.

"You signed yours when you murdered Bolvar! Damn you!"

"Will both of you please shut up?" This voice was different—it didn't have the same weak, wavering quality of the human and orc. Tirion looked to his left to see another bunk-bed set in the corner of the room, this one only having one human lying on the bottom bunk.

"Danthor?" Tirion asked tentatively.

The human looked at the highlord before sitting up. "It is. It's nice to see you again, Tirion."

Tirion moved closer and saw that Danthor wore a few bandages over his chest, but other than that he looked completely healthy, unlike the orc and human who looked to be at death's door. "You look to be well."

Danthor looked at his two bed mates across the room from him. "Better than them, I suppose, though it's not like their wounds stop them from arguing all the damn time. I'm one to side with Marshal Ivalius more, though that could just be the human race in me speaking. In truth, Warlord Hork has some good arguments himself."

"How are you faring then?" Tirion asked.

"Haven't you heard?" Danthor asked with a slight grin. "Deathbringer Halof near crushed my chest and killed me. I could die at any moment."

"You're a bad liar."

The knight laughed. "Ah, guess I can't fool the Ashbringer, huh? To be fair, my back still does hurt a bit. Just between you and me, though, I'm lying here to get out of the manual labor Dalfors has been assigning to everyone that's fit enough to walk."

Tirion looked around at the spacious inside of the keep, and although there wasn't a roof over their heads at the moment, it was still remarkable progress. "I don't blame you. How long were you planning on keeping this up?"

"Just until something interesting came along." Danthor hopped out of his bed and landed lightly on his feet. "And it looks like something interesting has indeed finally come along. So tell me, why are you here?"

This time Tirion was the one to sit down on the bed. "I noticed you've never taken off your crimson ring from the Scarlet Crusade." Danthor had, however, moved the ring to the fourth finger of his right hand.

The knight looked at the ring. "And I doubt I ever will. I don't wear it because I'm proud of the Scarlet Crusade. I wear it because it's a reminder of what I've done in the past." He looked up at Tirion. "Does that still make me under suspicion of being a spy?"

Tirion ran a hand through his hair. "My son used to wear a ring just like yours. Back before the Scarlet Crusade became the zealous organization it is today, Taelan Fordring wore that ring and Scarlet tabard with pride."

"He eventually became highlord of Hearthglen," Danthor said.

Tirion nodded. "Hearthglen was originally my home—the entire Fordring home. Then . . . situations arose and I was banished from the Knights of the Silver Hand, and Taelan was told by his mother that I had died. My son, eager to follow his old man's ideals, joined the Scarlet Crusade and gave the entire estate over to them. There, he served Grand Inquisitor Isillien faithfully, unaware of the growing decay of the men around him."

Danthor remained silent.

"I kept my distance out of respect for his mother, but . . . eventually, I thought enough was enough, and I decided to reveal myself to Taelan in hopes that he'd see the evils of the Crusade going on around him. He did and rebelled, and I was there when . . ." Tirion choked up a bit. "And I was there when he and Isillien fought and killed each other. After I buried my son with my own hands, I vowed to create a new Order of the Silver Hand. You could say Taelan and the Scarlet Crusade were my motivating force behind the creation of the Argent Crusade."

Tirion Fordring rose from the bed and looked Danthor right in the eye.

"So no, I don't think you're a Scarlet spy, because I believe your story of defection—I've lived it once before. The light of dawn can come to the most unlikely of people. So tell me, Danthor, have you truly seen the light?"

Danthor nodded. "When fighting for the Pinnacle, I saw what hope the Light can bring, even to a land long thought dead. After my incident with the Onslaught, my faith was shaken, but you and the Argent Crusade have helped to show me the way again."

"Good," Tirion said. "Then kneel, Danthor."

Danthor looked at Tirion with surprise. "Does this mean . . ."

"Kneel, Danthor Kurock."

Danthor knelt.

Tirion unsheathed Ashbringer and lightly tapped the flat of the blade on both of Danthor's shoulders, saying as he did it, "I, Tirion Fordring, the Ashbringer and highlord of the Argent Crusade, with the Light as my witness, hereby name you Danthor Kurock of the Argent Crusade. May the Light grant you wisdom and strength to serve our organization truthfully. Now rise."

Danthor rose and said, "Thank you."

Tirion sheathed Ashbringer and said, "Now that you're a proper crusader, I have a mission for you. I trust you're well enough to perform it."

"I am."

"Good," Tirion said. "For as we take time for our next attack against the Scourge, there's still another enemy in Icecrown. Can you guess?"

"Barean Westwind," Danthor said with a scowl.

The highlord nodded. "Yes, there've been reports of a base set up by the Scarlet Onslaught off an island to the west of us. Highlord Mograine has informed me that the Knights of the Ebon Blade have already set up a base nearby to try and neutralize the threat, called Death's Rise. I'd like you to go there and do whatever you can to help."

"I'd like nothing more than to kill Westwind with my own hands."

"Darion says he'd be more than willing to send you to Death's Rise with a recommendation," Tirion said. "You can leave as soon as you're ready."

Danthor nodded. "I think I'm ready. Though if you don't mind, I'd like to take a quick trip back to the Vanguard first . . ."

— — —

". . . and after the battle, Tirion Fordring finally saw it fit to make me a member of the Argent Crusade," Danthor told the gravestone of Lethella Borman back at the Argent Vanguard. "He's to send me west—to a group of death knights, if you can believe it—to the fight against the new base of the Onslaught."

The Argent Vanguard still had a few guards and men to keep the place occupied, but for the most part the entire Crusade had moved on to Crusaders' Pinnacle as their new major base of operations against the Scourge. Still, the quartermaster for the Crusade was still lingering around and saw it fit to give Danthor an official tabard of the Argent Crusade, some new armor, as well as a new sharpened longsword and a shield (identical to the previous one he used). He looked every part the crusader again.

Danthor paused for a second, simply staring at the headstone. "You know, it's at times like this that I miss you the most. I know you would've loved the Battle of the Vanguard and Battle for Crusaders' Pinnacle—and I know you would've most definitely loved a chance to destroy the Scarlet Onslaught, even if it involved teaming up with death knights to do it . . ."

He stopped to wipe the tears forming in his eyes.

"It's just that . . . I miss you, Lethella. I miss you and Jonas and Balean and Kayla and my mother; I miss you all. Out of all of us, I'm the only one who was able to survive the Scourge and Onslaught's wrath. _Heh_, I guess that just makes me the lucky one who has to carry on everyone's will and spirit. Still, it's hard without you and everyone else, and truthfully, I don't know if I can do it on my own." He heard a few footsteps behind him. "You'd probably beat me senseless if you heard that, so I guess I'll just have to do my best . . ."

Danthor stood up and turned around to see Darion (dressed in his Ebon Watcher attire) flanked by Jayde and Munch. "It's about time you get going," Darion said, not unkindly. "Jayde and Munch here will be accompanying you on your journey."

Danthor couldn't help but smile. _More death knights,_ he thought. _The world really is a weird place._ "Why not? The more the merrier."

"We'll be waiting near the entrance," Jayde said. "Take whatever time you need."

As they began walking away, Danthor turned around to look at Lethella's grave one more time. The smile was still on his face as he said, "The next time you see me, I'll have successfully destroyed the Scarlet Onslaught."

With that, he turned around to follow Darion and the rest.

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><p><em>Time to hunt down the Grand Admiral!<em>

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	67. The Death Knights of Death's Rise

Focusing his attention on the Scarlet Onslaught! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>67: The Death Knights of Death's Rise<span>**

Darion had offered to fly Danthor to the Ebon Blade base known as Death's Rise on one of his undead gryphons (the favored creature death knights use to fly), but after seeing the razor-beaked, taloned, skeletal beast first-hand, he respectfully declined. The creature wore armor protecting its head and chest plate, and had a saddle attached to its back, but that wouldn't make Danthor feel any safer flying it.

Jayde shrugged when the knight declined, running a kind hand across her gryphon's beak. "Your loss. You'll not find a more dependable creature in the air, that's for sure."

"I'll take my chances." Danthor had taken it upon himself to ask the bronze dragon Penumbrius (still cloaked in high elf form) if he could borrow one of their Argent skytalons for the trip, and he fortunately agreed. "I'm more practiced flying proto-drakes anyways."

He'd packed all the supplies he thought he'd need—which didn't turn out to be much save for his weapons, some food, and some water—on the skytalon and mounted up, flanked by Jayde and Munch, his two death knight companions who would be accompanying him to the base. Darion stood in front of all three of them, his black hood masking most of his features . . . except the slight smile on his face.

"Just tell 'em Highlord Mograine sent ya," Darion told Danthor. "Lord-Commander Arete may be a bit harsh in tone, but even he can't deny the word of his superior."

Danthor tilted his head slightly, confused. "You're not coming with us?"

Darion shook his head. "There are other battles for the Knights of the Ebon Blade and Argent Crusade to fight—yours is just a part."

_It's not just a part for me,_ Danthor thought. _If Westwind turns out to be somewhere on that island, I won't rest until he's dead._

"Don't worry about it," continued Darion. "Arete's a more than capable commander. Just tell him I sent you, and he'll put you right to work dismantling the Scarlet Onslaught once and for all."

Danthor nodded. That was all he needed.

Highlord Mograine glanced at Munch the orc, then Jayde the blood elf. "Keep him as safe as you can. It would be a shame to lose a new crusader in Tirion's ranks so soon."

"Don't worry, highlord," Munch said. "We'll keep a close watch on him."

"And protect him as best we can," Jayde added with a slight smile. "As long as it doesn't put our lives in danger."

Danthor sighed. "Thanks."

"Now get the hell outta here."

The three of them took off at the same time, and headed west—the direction the sun was setting in.

— — —

"It's about damned time! No doubt Highlord Mograine took his sweet time in sending the reinforcements I've been asking for for weeks now! If he wasn't my superior, I'd have his head off for such impertinence." Lord-Commander Arete shook his head. He was a thin, wily-looking Forsaken with a mop of ash-gray hair and a pinched, hollow face. He dressed in cobalt-colored plate with the tabard of the Ebon Blade—a purple runeblade facing downwards set against a black background with a white trim—and his two-handed runeblade greatsword strapped to his back. He inspected the three who had just arrived at Death's Rise, still shaking his head. "And all he sends me are two death knights and a scrawny-looking human."

_Warm welcome,_ Danthor thought. They had just arrived at Death's Rise; with the moon already well above their heads. "Entari says you skytalons aren't stupid," Danthor had said when he dismounted. The proto-drake had flown him quickly and true, and Danthor thanked him for it, patting him on his scaled head softly. "That means you should remember how to get back to the Pinnacle. Go on now, get out of here, and be sure to give Penumbrius and Tirion my thanks." The skytalon tilted its head slightly, but seemed to understand perfectly, taking to the air and flying back the way they came.

Danthor wasn't quite sure what he was expecting when he heard he was going to a place called "Death's Rise," but he could definitely say he expected more than what it was. In fact, he kind of wished he hadn't sent the skytalon away.

The base was little more than a circular platform, carved into the side of a mountain. Several hundred yards above them was the top of the mountain, while several hundred feet below was a rocky beach. Needless to say it made Danthor feel a bit uneasy. Still, the platform looked solid enough, held up by four stone spires that reminded Danthor of vrykul architecture. The platform was at the edge of a vrykul town called Jotunheim, which seemed to support his theory. The few scattered vrykul corpses limply hanging over the edge of the platform seemed to suggest that the giant warriors weren't willing to give it up without a fight.

A light amount of snow covered the square stone tiles, with Death's Rise's most prominent feature being that of a large burning bonfire at the center of the entire platform. The area wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination, but it was big enough to house a few tents and makeshift shelters around the northwest corner of the base. They found Arete near the opposite edge of the platform, who eyed them with suspicion immediately.

"I'll concede to the scrawny-looking human," Jayde said, casting a quick glance at Danthor, "but I assure you Munch and I will be more than enough help to take down the Onslaught."

Arete snorted. "Let's hope, because I'm not waiting any longer to strike. Those Scarlet dogs are getting more and more bold as time goes on."

Danthor could believe that. They were, until a short time ago, his steadfast allies, after all. "I swear I won't rest until that island is a smoldering ruin." Danthor pointed to the rocky harbor a little bit west of them, the darkness shrouding most of its features, except for the pointed white spire of what was undoubtedly a cathedral. _Each base has to have one,_ the knight reflected.

"First off, it's called the Onslaught Harbor," Arete said. He looked at Danthor's Argent Crusade tabard. "Second off, you'll have to forgive me if I'm a little distrustful of _your_ type of crusader, but the Argent Crusade has never been the greatest help to the Knights of the Ebon Blade."

"What are you talking about?" Munch asked. "It was the Argent Crusade that helped us break free from the Lich King's grasp."

The lord-commander shook his head. "Hardly. It wasn't the Lich King that betrayed _us_—after all, he raised us death knights above all others—but it was us who betrayed _him_ with Highlord Mograine's help." He looked at Danthor directly. "You'd do best to remember that distinction."

_"Lord-Commander Arete may be a bit harsh in tone,"_ Darion Mograine had said. Danthor wagered he was a bit delusional too. _Let's just hope he's as able a commander as Darion says he is._ Still, Danthor just nodded.

Arete ran a hand through his straw-like hair. "Still, I suppose I'll have to make do with what I have. Alright, if you three are serious about helping, then you'll need to listen up, and listen good! I'm gonna brief you on our current situation, so I want you to pay attention and not just nod your head blindly at what you hear."

_And a bit paranoid, to boot,_ Danthor thought. _Maybe this wasn't the best idea . . ._

"I'm sure you all know our history with the Scarlet Crusade, so I'm gonna skip that part of the history lesson and talk about what's really important," Arete said. "After the Forsaken sacked New Hearthglen and killed High General Abbendis, their new leader, Grand Admiral Westwind, made a mysterious exit, and we lost track of him."

"You mean you don't know for sure if he's down there?" Danthor couldn't stop himself from asking.

Arete glared daggers at him. "As I said, we lost track of him, but this is something I'm sure you'll be able to figure out for me. My suspicion is that he's down there somewhere, but my spies that have returned haven't been able to place him anywhere on the island."

_Great_, Danthor thought glumly. He didn't know what he would do if it turned out Barean Westwind wasn't down somewhere at the Onslaught Harbor.

"How many are down there?" Munch asked.

Arete shrugged. "Maybe three hundred, we can't say for sure. What we do know is that the Onslaught forces that _are_ present down there are the battle-hardened remnants of New Hearthglen." He sighed. "Unfortunately, they picked up better equipment along the way, as well as gryphons taken from fools somewhere."

Off in a corner Death's Rise, as if by magic, Danthor heard an animal-like screech. Looking to his right, Danthor saw a snow white-colored gryphon chained near the southwest pillar that held the entire platform up. The creature struggled a bit (maybe because of the mere mention of the Onslaught's gryphons), but the chains held strong and kept it in place. Coming out of a tent right next to the creature was a lanky troll death knight, wearing more tribal armor in lieu of the plate most of the others wore. He gripped a staff in his hand and started beating the gryphon's side in an attempt to quiet it. After a few hits, the animal settled down. Danthor couldn't help but feel a bit bad for the captured creature.

Jayde, Munch, and Arete also noticed the ruckus and stopped to look at the spectacle as well. Once the gryphon settled down, the troll noticed that he was being watched. He waved his staff over his head in a strange gesture before strolling back towards his tent, stopping to chuck a few coals in a brazier that was situated right in front of the tent. With the addition of the coals, the brazier gave off a trail of blue smoke.

"Anyways," Arete resumed, "what I'm trying to say is that this isn't going to be a stroll in the countryside. I want to be very clear—we're not here to soften them up. We're not here to make a dent. We're here to put an end to the disease that calls itself the Scarlet Onslaught." He stopped to glance at Danthor. "If you don't want any part of that, if you don't have the stomach, fly away now. I want someone here with us who is going to be here every day until the job is done."

Danthor answered the question directly. "Lord-commander, I would like nothing more than to put an end to such a corrupt organization, and I won't rest until Westwind is killed. I have my own personal stake in this."

Surprisingly, Arete flashed Danthor a grin. "That's what I wanted to hear. Now the first task I have for you three involves—"

"—intelligence gathering." The voice came from behind them and was deep and billowy.

Danthor turned around to see a tauren death knight mounted on a deathcharger. Being a tauren, the humanoid stood at least seven feet in height (with the horse giving him an extra two feet easy) and was bovine in appearance. He was rather muscular, with milky-colored skin; a blue, close-cropped beard and mane; sharp white horns that protruded out from the side of his head; and shockingly bright blue eyes. He wore large, black plate, complimented by a black hood that helped shadow some of his features. His boots were custom-made to fit his large hooves. His three-fingered hands looked big enough to crush the life out of Danthor with one squeeze. On his back was a two-handed axe that crackled with electricity.

"Ah," Arete said, not in the least surprised, "good timing. May I introduce to you three Aurochs Grimbane, my strong right hand. You'd be hard-pressed to find a death knight more powerful and loyal."

"Save your praise," Aurochs snorted. He looked down at the three newcomers. "So you're the fresh meat, huh? Well that's fine; I won't judge you like the lord-commander here, but that doesn't mean I'm not gonna make use of you."

"I'll let Aurochs here explain what needs to be done," Arete said. "Intelligence is his area of expertise, after all."

The tauren ignored the jape. "We need to know what the Scarlet Onslaught is planning. You will be an instrument in my task. You'll have to head on over to Onslaught Harbor and rifle through their baggage trunks for documents. The trunks will be locked, so you'll have to take the keys from Onslaught crusaders by whatever means."

Jayde shrugged. "Sounds simple enough. When shall we set off on this task?"

Arete looked at the sky. "An hour before dawn. That'll catch most of them unaware."

Danthor nodded. Looks like he wouldn't be getting much sleep, though he was used to it at this point. "Sounds good. Where will we be sleeping?"

"One more thing," Arete said. "I'm not stupid enough to send you three in there alone; you don't know the environment well enough. So I'm gonna pair you up with one of my spies who knows the Harbor inside and out. Aurochs, I think you know who I'm talking about. Would you kindly go get her?"

"Sure," Aurochs said, turning his death charger around and leading it towards the northwest pillar that supported the platform—the area designated for resting tents and shelters.

"She's the veteran of at least a dozen rangings," Arete said as they were waiting. "Every time I send her out, she always comes back after killing no less than five of the humans."

"Sounds impressive," Danthor said.

Arete nodded. "Just ask her if you need to know anything. Just don't let her take all the kills and fun from ya."

Aurochs returned with a female Forsaken standing at his side. Danthor couldn't help but shake a familiar feeling he got from looking at her. She had pale white skin and light-gray hair that was parted down the middle, brushed back to keep it out of her face (with a few strands falling in front of her left eye). The strangest thing about her were those mysterious green lines that appeared under her dull-blue eyes . . .

And then Danthor knew.

Arete pointed to her and said, "Let me introduce you three to your guide, Jadorra Shadowbane."

* * *

><p><em>She's back!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	68. Playing Catch Up

Surprised, to say the least. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

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><p><strong><span>68: Playing Catch Up<span>**

"Jadorra Shadowbane."

The words came out heavy from Danthor's throat, and seemed to hang in the air for a few seconds, even after he said them. No one else seemed to pay it any mind. Jadorra nodded curtly, sizing up the three. "So you're who I'm gonna be taking down to the Harbor, huh?"

She didn't give Danthor a second glance. _She doesn't recognize me, _Danthor thought. _It's been so long . . ._ Without knowing it, he touched his left shoulder—where she had wounded him in their first fight. Jayde and Munch introduced themselves, then they both looked to Danthor expectantly. He simply looked at the Forsaken and repeated, "Jadorra Shadowbane . . ."

Jadorra looked at Lord-Commander Arete and asked, "Is something wrong with this one?"

_So long ago . . . she killed so many at the Enclave._

Arete shook his head. "He was fine until you showed up." He looked at Danthor. "Tell her your name."

"D-Danthor Kurock." Maybe his name would remind her. Though thinking back, did he ever tell her his name? He demanded hers, when she'd nearly driven her runeblade through his back. Fortunately, it was Lethella who saved him . . . Lethella.

Jadorra shrugged at the knight and looked back at Munch and Jayde. "I've been told we'll be leaving before dawn. Night's the best time to strike, I've found. So an hour before the sun rises I want you ready to—"

She got no further. Danthor lunged forward and clouted her on the side of the head. The unexpected attack threw the death knight off-balance and sent her tumbling backwards, falling onto her back near the lit bonfire at the center of Death's Rise.

"Hey wait . . ." Jayde started.

Before she could get up, Danthor was already on her, grabbing her by her collar and yanking her up. "Jadorra Shadowbane!" he roared right at her face. "How can you not remember me?! I sure as hell remember you!"

That's when Danthor noticed she was reaching for the runeblade at her hip. He moved faster, butting his head into her, sending her gray hair flying backwards. He moved to strike again, but was forcefully pulled back by both Munch and Jayde. They both grabbed his struggling arms and held him in place while Jadorra took a few cautious steps back. "What the hell's the matter with you?" Munch demanded.

Jadorra eyed Danthor for a second before reaching for her runeblade yet again. Before she could grab the hilt, however, Aurochs Grimbane grabbed her from behind and held her in place. Arete came between the two groups, asking, "What the hell's going on here?"

Danthor, realizing he couldn't break two death knight's grip on him, stopped struggling and settled for staring at Jadorra with cold anger in his eyes. "Why is _she_ here?!" he asked the lord-commander.

"You mean Jadorra?" He looked confused. "She's a knight of the Ebon Blade."

"She murdered hundreds of Scarlet crusaders!"

Jadorra shook the hair out of her eyes. "I remember you now," she said. "You're that warrior I fought back at the Enclave."

"I'll kill you for what you did!" It was because of her, after all, that Abbendis's message never made it to High Commander Galvar Pureblood, and the entire force of Hearthglen marched to its death.

"As I recall," Jadorra said, "I was about to kill you _twice_ before others interfered."

"No one will be killing anyone!" Arete's voice rang powerfully, and Danthor immediately knew why Darion said he was a good commander. He looked at the knight and asked, "Now what's the problem between you two?"

"I used to serve under the Scarlet Crusade," Danthor admitted. "And before I ultimately defected, I fought against the Scourge at the Scarlet Enclave."

"Most of us served the Lich King back at the Enclave," Aurochs said gruffly. He still kept his grip on Jadorra's sword arm. "That was before Tirion showed us the light of dawn."

Danthor looked at the tauren, then back at the female Forsaken. "Well I've fought against her a few times personally. She murdered Rodrick, Valroth, our courier, and probably killed Galvar Pureblood herself."

"That was quite a battle as I recall," Jadorra said mockingly. "Scarlet blood was shed everywhere. There were no survivors. At least none I left."

"I'll kill you!"

"Enough!" Arete roared. He looked at Jadorra, then back at Danthor. "Now I don't know what kind of history you have with her, but I'll not be having you trying to kill her. Jadorra is veteran of many battles for the Ebon Blade, and even helped bring Naxxramas down and kill Kel'Thuzad."

"Naxxramas?" Danthor blinked. "She helped _kill_ Kel'Thuzad?"

"Me, a few other death knights, some Argent crusaders, and one member of the blue dragonflight," Jadorra said, "but yes. The archlich is dead."

Kel'Thuzad was dead? That had always been Lethella's goal in life, in a vain attempt to right her past wrongs. If Jadorra truly helped kill him . . . then in a strange way she helped fulfill Lethella's goal and gave her some peace. "You can let go of me now," he said to Jayde and Munch. "I promise I won't attack her anymore."

The two death knights looked at Arete pensively. Only with the lord-commander's nod did they release him. "Let me go too," Jadorra said. Aurochs released her and she made no attempt to draw her runeblade.

Danthor looked at the ground, then looked up at Jadorra. The bonfire illuminated half her face, and left the other half shrouded in darkness. "I . . . I'm sorry I attacked you. It was unjust."

"Well I'm not sorry I killed so many Scarlet crusaders back at the Enclave," Jadorra said. "Even if I wasn't following the Lich King's orders, I'd probably do it again." When Danthor's eyes widened with surprise, she added, "And I'd bet you'd do the same thing in my shoes. Or else why would you be here?"

He nodded solemnly. "You're right, I wish to bring an end to the Onslaught. Still, you . . . you killed many of my comrades."

Jadorra snorted. "Such is the way of war. You fought on one side, I fought on the other. Your side happened to lose."

Before Danthor could respond, Arete said held his arms out and said, "Alright, are you two okay now, or should I be concerned in sending you to the Harbor?"

"We're fine," Danthor said after a few seconds.

"As long as he doesn't try to attack me again, I'll have no problem," Jadorra said.

"Good," Arete said. "Then I'll expect to see you all in a few hours. Until then, get some sleep."

Just as Jadorra was turning around to go back to her sleeping quarters, Danthor took a step forward and said, "Jadorra, wait."

She stopped, turned around.

"The first time you fought me, you were just like the rest of the death knights," Danthor said. "I mean, it was clear you would kill anyone who defied the Lich King. The second time we fought though, before Darion interfered, I could tell something was different—like your heart wasn't in it. Did something happen between our two fights?"

"Yes." She turned back around, showing Danthor her back. "I killed my own brother. Now get some sleep."

She walked off, leaving Danthor standing alone by the crackling bonfire.

— — —

He didn't sleep well. He mostly dreamt of his time at the Enclave—from the plague that ravaged Tyr's Hand, to Balean's death, to watching the entire area burn as he floated away on one of Abbendis's ships.

Danthor was woken up by a sharp kick to his ribs. He looked up to see Munch standing over him, already fully armored. "Get up. It's almost time, and Arete's calling for you."

The knight sat up, yawned, and scratched the back of his head. When he was fully armored and walked out towards the bonfire, he looked up and saw that it was still full dark outside. _Certainly not an hour before the sun rises,_ he thought. Still, he made his way over to Arete, who was standing with Jayde, Munch, and Jadorra by the low-burning bonfire.

"Good morning," Danthor said in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence.

"It occurs to us," Arete said, "that you don't have the proper way of getting down to the harbor."

Danthor looked over towards OnslaughtHarbor, several hundred feet below them. Several fires dotted the island. "Never really thought about it," he said. "I just assumed I'd hitch a ride with one of you." _But would you really wanna share an undead gryphon with Jadorra?_ he thought.

He stole a quick glance at the female Forsaken death knight. In contrast to the light armor she was wearing yesterday, this morning she was dressed for war. She wore smoky-colored saronite plate, stylized with white inlay, and her epaulets were little more than two large skulls with glowing blue eyes and mouth. Her warhelm was tucked firmly under her arm, but it was shaped like a demon's skull, with two black horns protruding inward and jagged teeth showing where the mouth should be. "Dreadnaught armor," she called it. She claimed to have picked it up at Naxxramas.

Arete shook his head. "That won't do. I don't know if you've noticed, but our gryphons don't have much meat or space on them. No, you'll have to get your own mount."

_I should've kept the skytalon_. Then he remembered the Onslaught gryphon they captured and had chained. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that it was still there, but it was sleeping. "What about the gryphon?"

"Exactly what we were thinking ourselves," Arete said. "But that gryphon is too ill-tempered to let anyone save for an Onslaught crusader ride him. He would still probably be wary about you. He's too used to the brutal nature of these new types of crusaders."

Danthor took his word for it. "So how will I ride it?"

"We'll have to make a few . . . modifications."

Jadorra smirked at that.

"Modifications?" the knight asked.

"Follow us," Arete said, as he began walking towards the gryphon.

They stopped in front of the tent right next to the sleeping beast. Danthor noticed the brazier still had some embers in it that gave off a few wisps of blue smoke. "Hey Uzo, get out here!" Arete yelled.

They heard some grumblings inside the tent, then the troll Danthor saw last night who beat the gryphon walked out, saying, "Whatchu wan', mon? It's too early ta be callin' upon da Deathcaller."

Uzo Deathcaller had pale blue skin, but it would be hard to tell from far away. Most of his face was painted coal black, with only a strip that ran across his eyes being untouched. His hair was chalk-white and brushed back from his face. His tusks were long and curved inward at the tips. He wore a tabard of the Ebon Blade, but other than that he dressed outlandishly with purple robes and shoulderpads with tribalistic marks and skulls attached to them.

"Apologies," Arete said, "but we're in needs of your service." He motioned to the gryphon, then to Danthor. "Our human friend here needs a gryphon like ours. One that's more apt to . . . obey."

Uzo eyed Danthor, then the sleeping gryphon. "I'ma be needin' da propah reagents den."

Arete reached into his satchel and produced a brown wineskin. "Sharks blood off the coast. A few days old, but it should serve just fine."

Uzo took the skin, popped it open, smelled it, then nodded. "Bring da creatcha ovah here."

Jadorra and Munch were tasked with helping to unchain the struggling gryphon. Fortunately, a single chain looped around its entire body to stop it from flying away, but that didn't mean it went easily. As it was being brought over, Uzo was draining the wineskin of all the blood into the brazier, sending up a flurry of blue smoke. When it was empty and the gryphon was positioned so that its head was over the brazier, Uzo produced a knife with a hilt made of bone.

"Oh yeah," Uzo said with a malicious smile lighting up his face, "dis is gonna be good. Stand back . . . I'm gonna call da wrath of da blood ritual!"

He muttered a few words under his breath before bringing the knife under the gryphon's neck and drawing it across. The creature shrieked and bucked as its blood spilled into the brazier, but Munch and Jadorra held it firm, and eventually its eyes glazed over and it dropped to the ground. Danthor was horrified at the sight.

"What are you—" he started.

Uzo Deathcaller ignored him and continued chanting dark words, a dark stream of magic flowing from his hands into the creature. As soon as it touched, the feathers and flesh of the gryphon began to melt away, until finally nothing was left but its bones. When Uzo was done chanting, red orbs appeared in the gryphon's eye holes, and the beast's beak clacked open and closed as it let out a primordial grunt.

"Go get a saddle," Arete said to Jayde as the gryphon tentatively got to its feet. He looked at Danthor and gave him a crooked grin. "Congratulations, you now have your very own obedient skeletal mount. Now hurry on down to the Harbor and get us some useful intel."

Danthor would have said something, but he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would have thrown up.

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><p><em>Less than a pleasant first day . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	69. Invading the Harbor

Attacking the Harbor! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>69: Invading the Harbor<span>**

Thinking back, it was the first real human he ever killed.

Oh, he'd killed High General Abbendis back at New Hearthglen, to be sure, but Danthor didn't look upon her as a member of his own race; only as a monster who was trying to kill him. When he'd first joined the Scarlet Crusade—in what seemed like a hundred years ago—he told himself he was prepared to kill any undead he'd come across, Forsaken or Scourge alike. Garomaw Grimhand had seen to that. He never in his wildest dreams, however, thought he'd kill a fellow human; one of his own.

It all happened so fast, though. They'd ambushed a sleeping Onslaught camp and Danthor found himself fighting face to face with an infantryman. Sword and shield clashed against one another, but the infantryman was a beat to slow, and Danthor's sharpened longsword slid easily across his neck. The knight watched as the infantryman clawed at his open throat, his eyes wide with terror, before his knees buckled and he was on the ground. That had been the second human he'd killed, and the first _real_ human Danthor counted.

But he didn't feel bad about it. He felt a strange satisfaction in it, in fact. _After all,_ he thought as he wiped the blood from his blade, _he works for the Scarlet Onslaught under Westwind. His life would've only brought ruin upon others._

As Jayde and Munch set upon the campground, Jadorra Shadowbane checked the five bodies, rummaging through their belongings and yanking a set of keys off of one of them—obviously the group's leader. She had her Dreadnaught helm placed firmly on her head, accentuating her blue eyes and giving her the look of death itself.

Dawn had yet to come over Icecrown, and Danthor found the dark sky and the lapping of the waves to his right soothing. They'd rode from Death's Rise to OnslaughtHarbor on their undead gryphons. Danthor was tentative about his new mount, at first, but the creature obeyed him well enough, and it wasn't too different from flying on an Argent skytalon.

OnslaughtHarbor was itself two islands, separated by a vertical strip of ocean about thirty yards across between the two. The East Isle and West Isle (as Danthor called it) were connected by a large, white-stoned bridge in the middle of both islands. Both islands, however, were rocky spits of land with jutting mountains peppering its stony coasts. The group landed on the coast of the EastIsland.

_"There's always more activity on the western island,"_ Jadorra had told them before setting out. _"That's where most of their power is concentrated."_ Danthor could see why—the West Isle had the barracks and cathedral on it, where the East Isle only had a dock with two ships.

_It's fitting though, isn't it?_ he thought. _Of course the West Isle's gonna have more. His name's Westwind, after all._

"We've found a few chests in here," Munch announced from the tent.

Jayde was squatting down by the dying campfire, prodding at the wood with her runeblade idly. "By a few he means only two."

Danthor and Jadorra looked at the two before moving. They found the two trunks inside the tent, near the back. They were small and made of wood, with a bit of welded metal to keep it all together. Trunks like these were aplenty on the _Sinner's Folly_, they ship they took to get to Northrend.

"How many keys ya got?" Munch asked.

"Three." Jadorra produced two of them from her satchel, however, before kneeling down to unlock one. "Good thing all these trunks have the same keyholes."

"They were mass produced," Danthor said, "and packed quickly in an attempt to get out of the Enclave. You made sure of that."

Jadorra shot him a quick glance before turning the key and opening the trunk. On top were a few small articles of clothing, which Jadorra quickly threw behind her. At the bottom was a single document. She picked it up and inspected it. "What's it say?" Jayde asked.

Jadorra studied the piece of parchment for a few seconds before ripping it up. "A supply schedule dated two weeks ago. Worthless."

"Why'd they hold onto that?" wondered Munch.

"The Onslaught's done stupider things, I assure you," Danthor said. _Like listening to Westwind in the first place._ "Maybe the second chest has got something useful in it."

The second trunk yielded better results, with at least four intelligence documents being placed at the bottom of it. Jadorra went over them one at a time, only throwing one out for being outdated. Then she stopped at the final document, looking over it with her unblinking, dull blue eyes.

"What is it?" Danthor asked.

She handed the letter to the knight, answering with, "It's a major breakthrough."

The first thing Danthor noticed was that the letter bared an ornate seal with the mark to the Scarlet Onslaught. It immediately told him the letter was from someone of importance within the organization. When he read the parchment, however, he knew it wasn't just from _anybody_. It read:

_My fellow crusaders,_

_ Although you may not have seen me as of late, be it on the ships or praying at church, this does not mean that I'm doing nothing—far from it! The Light has told me to seek seclusion so that it can speak to me more clearly, and so I have done as it commands. Fear not, though, for I am still on this island delivering orders and leading the Onslaught to its victory!_

_ The Light has been communicating to me loud and clear, and it speaks of the glorious day in which the Scarlet Onslaught will emerge from this harbor and wash over the Lich King and his forces like a red flood. And that day is coming very soon! What's even more is that after the Lich King has been served the Light's justice, the Onslaught shall finally move on to bring order to the whole of the corrupted Azeroth!_

_ So fear not, my fellow warriors of the Light. Keep doing as you are told and be vigilant, for the hour of the Onslaught is upon the world. The Light fights on our side. For the Scarlet Onslaught!_

_Signed,  
>Grand Admiral Westwind<em>

Danthor was shaking by the time he finished the letter. Jayde quickly snatched it out of his hand, saying, "Don't hog it all to yourself. Let us see." She and Munch then quickly read over it. When they were done, the blood elf smiled. "A major breakthrough, indeed."

"So we know he's somewhere on the island," Danthor said. "The question is where?"

"No doubt only a few people would know," Munch said. "But who?"

"Well the ship captains, to start."

The three of them looked at Jadorra as she walked out of the tent, stuffing the important letter (as well as the other documents) back into her satchel. They followed her, with Jayde asking, "Which captains?"

Jadorra pointed to the north of them, towards the docks. "Captains Hartford and Welsington. From what I can gather from my other rangings, they're the highest ranking Onslaught officials around."

"And easy to reach to," Jayde said. "Luck appears to be on our side."

"We can get the letter back to Arete later," Jadorra continued. "What's important is finding those two and getting whatever information of them that we can."

Danthor judged the distance from where they were standing. A lot of rocks and campsites came between them. "Might not be easy to get to. Still, I guess we have no choice. Better get moving." He stopped after taking a few steps forward, looking at the three death knights staring at him quizzically. "What?"

"We have flying mounts," Munch said bluntly. "With it, we can land right on the ships."

Jadorra produced a horn from her satchel (_She's got a lot in there, it seems,_ Danthor thought) and blew on it. It emitted a moderate bellow. Within seconds, however, their four undead gryphons flew in from the sky and landed right in front of them. Jadorra was the first to mount, saying, "Let's get moving."

— — —

They'd decided to split up into two groups of two, each group getting a ship. They drew straws to see who would pair up with who. As luck would have it (_Though it couldn't be luck at this point,_ Danthor was thinking. _The fates are just cruel to me._), Danthor and Jadorra got put in the same group.

Jadorra and Munch had laughed at that. "Look at it this way," Jayde had said to them before they flew off, "it'll give you more time to bond."

"Fuck you," Danthor said.

Both death knights were laughing as they flew off. Their target was Captain Welsington, leaving Captain Hartford to Danthor and Jadorra. _More shit luck,_ the knight thought.

Hartford was the captain of the _Sinner's Folly_, Abbendis's flagship that Danthor, Lethella, and Jonas took to get to Northrend. Although she was busy most of the time with the ship and wasn't seen that often, Danthor remembered her well. She was serious when times called for it (and had quite a sharp tongue on her), but was also quick to make a joke and socialized with the crusaders when she could.

And now he had to interrogate her.

Their flight towards the docks was a short one. They were build on the northernmost part of the East Isle, with two wooden piers sticking out to ship the two remaining ships of the Onslaught fleet. Danthor couldn't help but laugh at its pathetic sight. You would think someone with the title of "grand admiral" would have more ships.

Danthor followed Jadorra's lead, and they went to the ship farthest away. It was still called the _Sinner's Folly_. The two of them landed on the deck quickly and dismounted, sending their gryphons back into the air. They'd return when Jadorra blew that horn of hers.

Only three sailors were on deck. _Most have probably left for the land,_ Danthor thought. _The Onslaught wasn't made for the water._

It seems Captain Hartford wasn't so willing to leave the _Sinner's Folly_, however, as she was at the very back of the ship, by the steering wheel. She was the first to notice the intruders. She wore red robes with an Onslaught tabard, and had a red captain's hat that shrouded the top half of her face in darkness.

"Intruders!" she yelled. Quick as that, she summoned a frostbolt in her hand. "Take care of them!"

The three deckhands moved quickly. They were unarmed and unarmored, whereas their opponents were. They stood no chance. Danthor cut down the first deckhand who reached him near the mast. His longsword sent a flurry of blood flying from his chest. He went down within a second. Before Danthor could even take a step forward, however, a fireball flew by his head and hit the mast behind him. He looked up to see Hartford summoning a frostbolt to throw next.

Jadorra had cut down the other two deckhands at this point, and the two of them moved on opposite sides of the ship, each taking a different flight of stairs to get up towards where the captain was standing. Unsure of who to attack, she aimed for Danthor with her frostbolt. The knight blocked it with his shield and kept moving. Before Hartford could get off another spell, however, Jadorra clocked her in the back of the head with a gauntleted fist.

"Go get some rope or chain," Jadorra said as she picked up her unconscious body. "We'll need something to tie her to the mast with."

Danthor managed to find a length of chain below deck. No one else was down there. When he came back up, the death knight managed to prop up the still-unconscious captain against the mast. Within five minutes time, she was chained up and ready for questioning. Jadorra delivered a stinging backhand to wake her up.

Hartford coughed out some blood. The blow left a purple bruise on her young and actually beautiful face. Her eyes hardened when she saw the Forsaken. "Do what you will with me, undead scum. I'm not telling you anything."

"We'll see," Jadorra said. "Tell me where Westwind is."

"I don't know."

Wrong answer. Jadorra delivered a swift punch to her gut. She coughed and keeled over. She looked up at Danthor sadly. "I remember you," she said with strands of blood coming from her mouth. "You're Captain Kurock. What happened to drive you so low?"

Danthor didn't answer. "Where is Westwind?" Jadorra repeated.

She spat blood at Jadorra's face. "I don't know."

Jadorra gave her a backhand on the other side of her face, and then punched her in the stomach again. "Keep this up," she warned, "and it's gonna get a lot worse."

"Please tell us," Danthor said. "Tell us and we can stop this."

Hartford ignored Jadorra and looked back up at Danthor. "You've just become a filthy pawn for the Ebon Blade. You can die with the rest of them!"

Jadorra pulled out a dagger from the back of her belt and held it up to Hartford's face. _This is all looking so familiar,_ Danthor thought, wondering if Jadorra was going to cut off the captain's pinky finger. "Last chance," she warned. "Tell us where Westwind is!"

"May the Light purge you all."

Jadorra didn't go for Hartford's little finger, but her right ear instead. The sharpened blade cut through her outer ear easily, revealing a sickening red patch of blood and muscle in its place. Hartford's foot stomped strongly against the deck as she screamed. _"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"_

"Where is Westwind?!" Jadorra yelled.

_"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!"_

"Your nose is next," Jadorra said, moving the blade.

Danthor looked at the death knight, shocked. "Stop! She said she doesn't know where she is!"

"You crusaders are a zealous lot," Jadorra said calmly, "but not half as stupid as you try to make us believe. Now tell me where Westwind is hiding."

"I don't know where the grand admiral is," Hartford said, her voice beginning to waver. "Go to hell!"

Jadorra shrugged as the blade lightly touched her nose. "Your choice."

Before she could cut, however, Danthor drew his longsword and thrust it into Hartford's heart. The captain gave the former Onslaught crusader a look that seemed to show gratitude. Then, her eyes closed and her head slumped. Danthor pulled out his blade, wiped off the blood, and sheathed it.

"Idiot!" Jadorra cursed, putting away her dagger. "Why'd you do that?"

"Onslaught crusaders may be zealous, but they're not immune to pain and suffering," Danthor said. "If she knew where Westwind was, she'd have told you. We were just dragging it out."

"You're soft," the death knight said with disgust. That was all she seemed to say on the subject, for she looked over at the other ship and said, "I hope they got something useful out of Welsington."

It turns out Jayde and Munch got exactly what they needed. When the four of them met back up, they decided to take the information back to Lord-Commander Arete.

* * *

><p><em>An important clue!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	70. The Crimson Cathedral

Returning with their new information! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>70: The Crimson Cathedral<span>**

"Scarlet Onslaught intel is to be delivered to Aurochs Grimbane," Lord-Commander Arete said with less than a passing interest. He looked up from the map he was looking at to give the group a dismissing look.

"You'll want to see this," Danthor said, holding out the document they'd found back at the Harbor. "It's signed by Westwind himself."

Arete looked back up with an incredulous look on his face. "A note written by Westwind?" he asked, snatching it out of Danthor's hand. "Why didn't you say so?" He took a few seconds to read over it, then burst out laughing. "The fool! He's actually here?! This is new information. I wonder how he imagines that he's going to conquer the world once he's taken down the Lich King? Not that he could accomplish either task in his wildest imaginings."

"We've taken it upon ourselves to interrogate the captains of Westwind's ships," Jadorra put in.

"I didn't authorize that," Arete said sharply.

Jadorra ignored him. "As it turns out, Jayde and Munch here have figured out a useful piece of information from Welsington." She motioned towards the other two death knights.

The blood elf, Jayde, nodded. "Captain Welsington was a coward through and through. It didn't take long to get the information out of him, try as he might to bribe us."

"Before he died, he said that Archbishop Landgren would know where the grand admiral is," Munch said.

Arete tilted his head slightly. "They resurrected Landgren? I'd heard they had an archbishop in their cathedral, but I had no idea they'd resurrected and promoted Landgren!"

Danthor had the same reaction when he found out. The last time he'd seen Landgren (still High Abbot Landgren back then) was back at New Hearthglen. Danthor's opinion of the man had lessened significantly after he'd seen him and Bishop Street create the raven priests, but he was still taken aback when Abbendis had told him—during that fateful trial, true enough—that some Forsaken troops from Venomspite had murdered him.

_"Don't underestimate the power of Westwind,"_ Jadorra said when he brought it up. _"You said yourself he seemed to be his right-hand man anyways."_

That had been true—Landgren was always the first to jump to Westwind's aid, but still . . .

"He's the one to know where the grand admiral is, then," Arete said. "He'll be at the Crimson Cathedral, if anywhere. We've never been able to get an agent anywhere near there because it's so heavily guarded and only has one entrance . . ." Arete stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Still, we need to know where the grand admiral is, but I won't be taking any chances! You'll be taking Setaal with you."

"Setaal Darkmender?" Jadorra asked. "Lord-commander, with all due respect, I hardly think we'll need such help to—"

Arete glared at her, shutting her up. _He's good,_ Danthor thought with a light smile. Seeing Jadorra freeze up was pretty satisfying.

"The Crimson Cathedral's too well-guarded for three death knights and a human." He looked at Danthor. "No offense . . ."

"None taken."

"It's too well guarded for you four to get to Landgren alone," Arete continued. "Whereas Setaal has a dark gift that can be useful in such situations."

"My specialty lies in turning disadvantageous situations to our advantage."

To everyone's left stood a tall, female dranei. She had light-blue skin, bright blue eyes, pale yellow hair that fell down to her shoulders, and an attractive face. As typical with all dranei, however, she had a pair of black hooves instead of feet, and had two black horns on the sides of her head that almost looked brushed backwards like it was hair. She wore gray-and-blue chainmail robes, a tabard of the Ebon Blade, and yellow lobstered epaulets with matching gauntlets. At her left hip was an enchanted dirk that served as her runeblade and hanging off her right hip was a satchel.

"Ah," Arete said, "your timing is impeccable as usual. Everyone, allow me to introduce you to Setaal Darkmender, local potion brewer at Death's Rise."

Setaal eyed the group coldly. "Should such an important task really be left to the likes of them?"

"How dare you," Jadorra snapped. "We're the ones who found the intelligence, and we're the ones that will pursue the lead."

"They have need of your skill set," Arete said. He handed Setaal a small circular device. "Take this device. It can be used to summon a gate for me to step through once you've killed the archbishop."

"Stepping in personally?" Setaal's voice did not betray amusement.

Arete nodded. "I'll have my answers directly from his compelled soul. We will find Grand Admiral Westwind!" He pointed to Onslaught Harbor down below. "Now get going."

"Try to keep up," Setaal told the group as she mounted up on her own personal gryphon. Her deadpan face gave nothing away. That seemed to anger Jadorra even more.

_I'm starting to like her,_ Danthor thought with a laugh as they flew down to the Harbor.

— — —

They landed as close as they'd dared, on a small dirt path that led up towards the Crimson Cathedral. They quickly took out a few mounted patrolmen (who were paladins, actually, though they seemed to have a dark aura around them at all times) before travelling up to see where they'd be attacking.

The cathedral really _was_ heavily guarded. Aside from a few Onslaught gryphon riders that patrolled overhead, there looked to be at least fifty guards stationed at the stairs of the cathedral. Everything from footmen to dark paladins to scouts with bloodhounds to mounted captains to raven priests. "There's a reason we're always warned to stay away from the cathedral," Setaal said.

"Landgren sure is thorough in his security," Danthor said.

"I sure hope you have a plan," Jayde said, looking at Setaal. "Arete seemed to imply that you were our secret weapon."

Setaal snorted as she dug through her satchel. "How kind our lord-commander is. Make no mistake, though, where he is all flowers and sunshine, I am filled only with hatred."

_Arete's no spring meadow, so that makes me wonder what you are,_ Danthor thought.

Setaal produced a glass vial. It had coagulated-looking brown liquid within it. "I never thought it was enough to end the Onslaught's miserable lives," she said, staring at the liquid. "I wanted them humiliated . . . debased!"

She looked at Danthor—the only living resident of the group—and gave him a smirk that sent shivers down his spine.

"What could be more unspeakable than turning into that which you hate?" she continued. "To dedicate your existence to eradicating a thing, and in the end becoming it? How sad . . ." She took a few steps forward and tossed the vial at the cathedral guard.

"What are you doing?!" Munch demanded as they watched the vial fly.

"Just follow my lead and cover me," she said, drawing her weapon and running towards the Crimson Cathedral.

The vial landed near the front of the group of fifty, exploding immediately on impact. Brown fumes began to emerge from where the potion exploded, and four of the guardsmen died immediately upon inhaling it. By the time the other Onslaught crusaders noticed, however, the four death knights and one Argent crusader was already on them, their weapons drawn.

Danthor, Jayde, Munch, and Jadorra clashed immediately. Danthor cut a hapless scout down before smashing his bloodhound in the side with his shield. Jayde used the spell Icy Touch on a raven priest while Munch beheaded a footman. Jadorra managed to break a paladin's jaw with her gauntleted fist . . . while Setaal stood back by the four bodies her concoction had killed, standing over them with a vial in each hand, administering a healthy dose over their bodies.

"What is she doing?" Danthor asked as he blocked the strike from a dark paladin's hammer.

Within seconds, though, he knew what she was doing. As soon as her tincture touched the bodies, their skin began to rot, and within seconds they rose as ghouls. Setaal moved quickly, working on the bodies the other four were creating, and soon enough she had a group of jabbering ghouls behind her. _It's like the opposite of Gustav's holy water,_ Danthor thought in horror.

She laughed as they launched forward to attack the other guardsmen. "Writhe in fear, you worthless fools! Know that when I'm done with you, you'll become that which you hate the most!"

A footman ran towards the dranei, sword in hand. He tried for a thrust, but Setaal turned to the side and grabbed his outstretched arm with her left hand. At the same time, she pulled out her dirk with her right hand and shoved it through the footman's neck. As soon as he fell, she applied some of the tincture on him, and she had another ghoul in her rank.

At this point, the ghouls were attacking the cathedral guardsmen from all sides, felling them one-by-one. And as one fell, a ghoul rose in its place to help the group of five. "Get in there!" Setaal yelled, pointing her runeblade at the Crimson Cathedral entrance. Her ghouls had managed to wrest a path for the four of them to follow. "Take care of Landgren and I'll make sure no one comes in to disturb you!"

Leaving the dwindling guardsmen in the more-than-capable hands of Setaal Darkmender, the other four ran up the white-stoned steps and into the cathedral. The inside looked exactly like every other cathedral in the Scarlet Crusade Danthor had been to. _They must really like this architecture . . ._

At the end of the long processional by the altar, Archbishop Landgren stood with his back turned to them. He was flanked on both sides by three raven priests. He knew they were there, and he let out an audible sigh. "Why must you monsters persist in interfering with the Light?" he asked.

Danthor took a step forward and pointed his bloodied longsword at him. "Because you've chosen to follow the madman Westwind!"

Landgren turned around. He looked almost exactly the same since Danthor last saw him with the same black beard and pointed red hat, save for his glowing rounded shoulderpads instead of his spiked red ones. His staff also seemed to give off a more holy glow as well.

"There is much that you don't understand," Landgren said, shaking his head. "The Master sees all." He pointed his staff at the four of them and said to his raven priests, "Get them!"

The six shadow-drenched raven priests rushed forward, channeling spells with their staffs out. Jadorra quickly threw down an anti-magic shell that enveloped all of them, saving them from the first round of attacks. "We'll take care of this," Munch said as he and Jayde burst out from their force-field to confront the shadow priests. They each took on three at one time.

That left Jadorra and Danthor to charge towards the archbishop. He held out his free hand and dark magic circled around it. "Shadow Word: Pain!"

A dark pain found itself inside Danthor's chest, causing him to stop momentarily and clutch his heart. _By the Light, he's giving me a heart attack,_ he thought in a flurry as Jadorra continued onward.

Pointing his staff at the death knight, he channeled a long rope of dark energy that, as soon as it hit Jadorra, slowed her down immensely. It was almost as if she was trying to push against gravity itself. "Mind Flay!" he yelled.

Danthor pushed onward, despite the persistent, beating pain in his chest, letting out a battle cry and swinging his sword at Landgren's head. He ducked, and Danthor's sword only managed to knock the hat off of the archbishop's head, revealing his short, messy black hair that was peppered with a bit of gray. Landgren responded by swinging his black-gloved fist at Danthor and smashing him in the mouth. His fist felt like it was made of metal, and blood flew from the knight's mouth as he took a few steps back.

_Learning dark magic was the best thing that could have ever happened to Landgren,_ Danthor thought as he gripped his mouth in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

Jadorra was within striking distance at this point and brought her runeblade up, swinging it down. Landgren gripped his staff with both hands and parried the blow, forcing her to take a step back. That's when he swung the bottom half of his staff and struck Jadorra in her relatively unarmored neck. She took a few flailing steps to the side in response to that, and Landgren took another step forward to keep on his attack.

That's when Danthor managed to cut him near his ribs.

His robe opened up under his longsword immediately, and blood began spilling out. Landgren stopped in his tracks and gripped his opened side. He glared at Danthor with a hateful look. Despite the beating pain in his chest, Danthor managed to smile and shrug. "You're fighting two of us. Don't let your guard down."

Blood dribbled from his mouth as he yelled to Danthor, "I will not die so quickly this time!"

He turned around to conjure a dark ball of magic in a spell called Mind Blast, but suddenly the spell just disappeared in his hand. A surprised Danthor watched as Landgren gripped at his throat and made a hacking sound. Before Danthor could deduce that the archbishop had been silenced by a spell called Strangulate, Jadorra's runeblade poked through his chest, followed by a spray of blood.

"Fools . . ." Landgren said through shallow breaths. "I will return . . . grand admiral's will permitting . . ."

_You used to say "Light permitting,"_ Danthor thought angrily as Landgren died.

Jayde and Munch were just finishing off the last of the raven priests as the archbishop fell to the ground. "Looks like you made quick work of him," they heard Setaal say from the entrance of the Crimson Cathedral. Her robes were spattered with crimson.

"The outside?" Munch asked gruffly.

"Secure. They'll have to get through an army of ghouls to reach us. Still, that doesn't mean we should dawdle." She strolled up towards Landgren's corpse and took out the circular device Arete gave her. "Let's hope this works . . ."

She channeled a small amount of dark energy, and the disk began to glow. Before anyone knew it, a black gate opened right next to Landgren's corpse, and Lord-Commander Arete stepped out of it and into the cathedral. He looked at Landgren's corpse first, then at the group, saying, "Well done. Let's get this over with. Come, Landgren, cough up your soul so that I can ask you a very important question."

Arete channeled a dark stream of magic (that looked like Mind Flay) at Landgren's corpse, and managed to pull out the specter of Landgren. _A soul,_ Danthor though, making a quick prayer to the Light. _What he's about to do is most unholy._

Landgren's soul seemed to know the question already, for he said, "You'll get nothing out of me, monster. I am beyond your ability to influence."

Arete made it clear he wasn't playing around. _"YOU WILL TELL ME WHERE WESTWIND IS OR I WILL DESTROY YOUR SOUL!"_

"No."

Arete sighed. "Then you leave me no choice. I won't say that I won't enjoy this."

He channeled the Mind Flay-like spell that enveloped Landgren's soul in darkness, ironically making him look like one of his raven priests. Landgren's soul let out a cry of pain, and after only a few seconds yelled, "STOP! It isn't worth it. I'll tell you where he is."

Arete stopped the spell and lowered his arm. "Very well. Tell me!"

"On the south end of the island is a cave—a hidden hollow," Landgren's soul said. "The grand admiral has holed himself up in there, preparing for the final battle against the Lich King."

The lord-commander raised an eyebrow. "A hidden hollow? How very interesting . . . You've served your purpose, Landgren, but I'm afraid there'll be no resurrection for you this time."

Arete continued the spell for a few more seconds, and then Landgren's soul disappeared forever. _"AAAEEEEIIIiiiiiiiiii . . ."_

Arete gave his corpse a quick kick before turning around towards the black gate that summoned him. "Now that the unpleasantness is finished, follow me through the death gate. We have a lot to talk about at Death's Rise . . . like how to deal with Grand Admiral Westwind."

* * *

><p><em>The Admiral's location revealed!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	71. Talks at the Bonfire

Time to plan their attack! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>71: Talks at the Bonfire<span>**

As soon as they stepped through Arete's death gate, they disappeared from the Crimson Cathedral and reappeared at Death's Rise. A breeze of cool air greeted the group as they returned and walked towards the lit bonfire. It was night overhead, but they couldn't focus on sleep now. They had business to attend to.

"I've sent a few spies out to find this hidden hollow," Lord-Commander Arete told them a little while after they'd come back, when he summoned his top commanders to a meeting. "If anyone can find where the grand admiral is hiding, it's them. They should be back within a few hours."

"The sooner we find out, the better," Danthor said.

Arete nodded. "In the meantime, we have a lot to talk about." He focused his sights on Danthor. "With you particularly."

"Why me?" the knight asked.

"You're the only one here who's had firsthand experience fighting Westwind," the lord-commander answered. "I want to know everything we can before we strike."

_But where to begin?_ he thought. It hadn't been that long ago since he'd first set his eyes on the aged admiral. Sure, he'd heard about Westwind's various heroic feats before he shipped off on that fateful voyage to Northrend, but that was years before Danthor joined the ranks of the Scarlet Crusade—back when they were stilled _called_ the Scarlet Crusade.

"What do you want to know?" he eventually asked. Everyone—Jayde, Munch, Setaal Darkmender, Aurochs Grimbane, Uzo Deathcaller—looked at him expectantly. Even Jadorra Shadowbane. Her he noticed most of all.

"I'd start with how he survived that disastrous trek to Northrend," Arete said.

Danthor glanced around at the expectant blue eyes that all trained on him. "He claims to have survived only by the good graces of the Light—"

Uzo scoffed at that. Danthor looked at the undead troll.

"A lie, I have no doubt," he continued, "but it was enough to convince the zealous Onslaught that he'd been able to survive when everyone else in the Scarlet fleet died. He said that he was given a case of amnesia and spent years wandering Northrend without any specific purpose. Even earning the nickname, the 'Aimless Walker.' Have you heard of anyone like that?"

Arete stroked his chin in thought before shaking his head. "Can't say that I have. How 'bout the rest of you?" They all shook their head. "Another lie then."

"Westwind's full of them, I've come to find," Danthor said.

Jadorra twirled her index finger in a show of impatience. "We can all agree he's a liar and that's he's _alive_. Now if we hope to rectify that last fact, we'll need some more tangible information that we can use against him. How does he fight?"

"That I can't really say," Danthor admitted, a little embarrassed. "He used a rapier and appears skilled with it, despite his age. But as to the rest, I can't really say."

Setaal tilted her head at that. "But you were the one who slew Abbendis with him in the same room. Are you telling us he did nothing?"

"He did . . ." Danthor swallowed hard. "One of my friends . . .

_(my lover)_

a warmage, she tried to fight him. Before her sword could touch him, though, he surrounded himself with a protective shield. No matter what she tried, nothing got through to him. When her guard was down, though, he got rid of the shield and killed her."

If they noticed that Danthor was forcing back tears, no one showed it. "He got rid of the shield before he attacked?" Aurochs asked.

The knight nodded.

"That means he can't attack when he's enveloped in it," the tauren mused. "That's its weakness."

Arete asked, "This shield . . . would you say its properties are magical?"

Danthor shrugged. "I'm not too skilled in magic, so I can't really say." _That was Lethella's expertise._ "Though I'd have to imagine it is, since I can't think of what else it could be."

A smile started to rise on Arete's face. Uzo looked at the lord-commander and said, "It be lookin' like yar gonna be busy tinkerin' wit yar equipment tonight, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Munch asked.

The smile was still on Arete's face when he said, "I happen to be particularly adept at nullifying magic. If you give me a little bit of time, I can fashion a device that'll negate his impenetrable magic shield."

"Our lord-commander loves making all sorts of strange devices, in case you haven't noticed," Setaal mockingly put in.

Danthor nodded and thought, _Let's hope he knows what he's doing. Or else we're all dead._ "That'll do for how we fight Westwind, but what's the plan on how we're actually gonna _get_ to him? He's bound to be heavily guarded."

"That," Arete said after a few seconds, "we're still undecided on. Who knows how big the caves are and how cramped the fighting conditions will be?"

Such a thought reminded Danthor of the Frostmourne Cavern. He shivered slightly as the cool breeze stirred the night air around them. It was during that chill that the idea struck him. "Lord-commander," he said, "how many men do we have for such an attack?"

Arete shrugged. "Maybe thirty. Why?"

"We're bound to be outnumbered if we only have thirty," Danthor said.

"That's obvious. What's your point?"

"My point is that we need a plan to compensate for such low numbers," Danthor said, a smile spreading on his bearded face. "An ambush would serve best, I think."

"An interesting thought," Aurochs said. "What do you propose?"

Danthor jerked a thumb down at OnslaughtHarbor. "I propose we use the environment to our advantage. If this hidden hollow is indeed small, we can use that to cause some real damage."

"Out with it already." Arete was clearly tired of Danthor beating around the bush. "What kind of ambush are you proposing?"

"The bottlenecking kind," Danthor said. "We lure the guards of the cave through the entrance of the cave, get a group of 'em stuck in there good and tight, and then rush in and sweep through them. The surprise and tight quarters will give us enough of an edge to turn the tide of battle to our favor."

Everyone was silent, thinking of the words Danthor just said. "Have ya actchally tried somethin' like dis before?"

"I have, and it's worked." Danthor thought back to when seven Scarlet crusaders managed to defeat a score of Forsaken troops on that mountain path between Garren's Haunt and the Agamand Mills. Similar plans were thought of to take both Corin's Crossing and Death's Breach, but they never managed to come to fruition.

"This would mean nothing if the cave entrance is large," Setaal said.

That made Danthor think of the Frostmourne Cavern again—with its large, icy opening that housed so many terrors. He shook his head at the thought. _Don't dwell on it. It'll do you no good._ "I doubt it," is what he actually said. "If this cave was big, we would've noticed it by now."

Arete rubbed his chin. "It depends on the information the spies come back with," he finally said. "Still, it'll come down to an open battle, I have no doubt about that. The attack should come at night."

Everyone agreed on that.

Arete clapped his hands together, and finished with, "Well, that's about all we can expect to think about at this point. We'll change our plans as more information comes in. until then, get some rest and be prepared for war."

Danthor gratefully retired to his bed. Sleep would help clear his thoughts.

— — —

Not much happened the next day.

Night turned to morning, morning to midday, and midday to afternoon, yet not much went on at Death's Rise. There was still no word from the spies Arete sent down, and as a result not much planning could be done. Attacking Westwind, it seemed, would have to wait.

Danthor actually welcomed the break, seeing it as a nice change of pace. Most of his wounds were properly healed by this point, and his back only gave a slight twinge of pain occasionally. He was allowed to sleep undisturbed (_"A reward for two back-to-back missions,"_ Arete had said) and woke when the sun was high in the sky.

Leaving Jayde and Munch (and Jadorra, for that matter) to their own devices, Danthor strolled around Death's Rise and familiarized himself with some of the men who would be joining them for battle. Most didn't want to talk to a human such as himself, but a few death knight initiates—Gahark the orc, Claget the Forsaken, and Roderick the human—had an amiable enough conversation with the knight.

_They've never tasted battle under the Ebon Blade,_ he remembered thinking while talking to the initiates. _Hopefully it won't be their first and last time, Light willing._

And so the sun slowly went down as the day of tranquil relaxation at Death's Rise came to an end. It was during sunset that Danthor found Jadorra sitting alone near the bonfire, sharpening her runeblade with a whetstone. The knight was about to turn away when Jadorra noticed him and beckoned him over.

_Can't refuse her now,_ he thought with a sigh. He took a seat next to her and pulled out his own longsword. "Got an extra stone for me?"

Wordlessly, Jadorra handed him a whetstone, and Danthor went to work sharpening his own blade. He wanted it at its peak for the battle. For several minutes, the only sound between them was the sound of their blades scraping against stone. Danthor kept his sights trained on his longsword, but he noticed Jadorra was busy staring out at the setting sun.

"Do you fear death?" she finally asked.

Danthor stopped sharpening his blade and looked up. He thought of all those he knew that had died: Marsha, Kayla, Captain Vachon, Myles, Crusader Lord Valdelmar, Kojak, Balean, Brommen, Jonas . . . and Lethella. So many people he was close to had died, how could he not fear death? "I suppose I do. It's the fear of the unknown that gets to me."

"I've died twice before," Jadorra said, "and still I fear death."

"It must be pretty scary then. To fear it even though you know what it's like."

She continued staring at the sunset, refusing to look at the knight. "There's nothing quite like it in the world. The first time I was killed by the Scourge in the Eastern Plaguelands for protecting a caravan—I was a sword for hire back then. All I could think about near the end was how it was all over . . . but I was wrong. They raised me as a tool of the Scourge, and I faithfully obeyed every command I was given, no matter how brutal it may be."

Danthor shifted slightly, a little uncomfortable. She's never opened up to him before, so why is she starting now?

"Then I was freed by the Dark Lady," she continued, "Sylvanas Windrunner. I was her most faithful servant for many years, doing whatever she asked to have the Forsaken finally gain a foothold in the Tirisfal Glades. I owed her my life, so I never questioned the Dark Lady's orders. That loyalty turned out to be my failing, when . . ."

"When?"

"When Sylvanas ordered me and a group of Forsaken to retake the city of Stratholme. We fought our way deep into the city and eventually made it to the Scourge leader there, Baron Rivendare. We battled valiantly, but Rivendare won in the end, and I was killed yet a second time. That time I remembered thinking that there would be no more second chances. That my death was real this time. But I was wrong again."

_And we all know how that turned out,_ Danthor thought. _Though I didn't know it was Rivendare who did her in._ "Yet even after two deaths, you're still afraid?"

She finally looked away from the blood-red sun and stared directly at Danthor's eyes. "Yes," she said. "Even now, I'm afraid I might die down there. If not in the battle to get to him, then surely by Westwind himself."

_I wonder if she feared death when under control of the Lich King as a death knight. Was she afraid every time she fought against me?_ "You'll have many allies helping you," he said.

"Allies, yes. Friends, no. There's only a handful of people here I trust. So I need to know: Can we cast our past together aside and fight on the battlefield as allies? Can I trust you, Danthor Kurock?"

It was at that moment that Danthor realized that Jadorra was just like him—a victim of circumstance. She didn't ask for anything life had ultimately given her, and those experiences are what shaped her into who she is today. _By the Light, am I really just like her?_ he thought. He nodded. "Yes, you can trust me, and I'll trust you."

"That's all I needed to know."

But there was still one thing he needed to know. "Back when you were at Stratholme, did you encounter the Scarlet Crusade?"

She nodded. "They were entrenched deep in the city under the command of Grand Crusader Dathrohan. My men and I stormed their stronghold with ease and killed many without pity."

"And are you still unapologetic about killing so many men and women?"

"I am." She paused, then added, "But there's a reason for it. When we made it to Dathrohan himself, he revealed himself to not be a human, but a dreadlord in disguise."

"What?" Danthor had never met Dathrohan, to be sure, but he'd heard that he was one of the first Knights of the Silver Hand and one of the founders of the Crusade. "There's no way he could be a dreadlord!"

"It's true," she said. "Somehow the demon named Balnazzar managed to kill Saidan Dathrohan and possess his corpse. He was using the Scarlet Crusade for his own ends to get revenge against the Forsaken and Scourge."

"By the Light . . ." If this was true, just how far did the corruption go? Did Abbendis know about this? Did Westwind?

"What's more is that when we finally did manage to kill him, he admitted to having—"

_"SOMEONE GET SOME MEDICAL EQUIPMENT! HURRY UP, IT'S URGENT!"_

Jadorra stopped talking, and she and Danthor looked in the direction of the voice. It was Arete speaking, and he was standing over a collapsed dwarf death knight. Danthor sheathed his longsword and moved to see what the problem was. Jadorra followed him.

The dwarf looked badly injured, missing his armor and runeblade and bleeding from his chest. Blood pooled around his mouth as he tried to speak. "Slowly, slowly," Arete said gently. "It's very important you tell me what happened."

"Found the cave . . . caught by surprise," the dwarf said through pained breath. "Took us inside and experimented . . . Got some of us to talk . . . I'm the only one who managed to escape."

"Easy now," Arete said. "You did fine, but please, you have to tell us. Where is the cave hidden?"

"At the very west of the island," the dwarf wheezed. "Behind the cathedral . . ."

_"Get him some medical attention now, gods damn it!"_ Arete roared. A few death knights came over with a makeshift stretcher and gently loaded the dwarf on to it. "Don't worry, you're going to be fine. Thank you for the information."

When the dwarf was out of sight, Arete looked at all the death knights who had gathered to watch the scene. Almost everyone at Death's Rise had come to see, and formed a circle around the lord-commander. He caught sight of his officers—Aurochs, Uzo, Setaal—and took a deep breath.

"Our plan and position have been compromised," Arete said. "We have no choice but to strike first before they come to us. We attack at full dark!"

Most of the death knights drew their runeblades and cheered. The prospect of battle usually excited their kind. _I wonder if they fear death as much as the living,_ Danthor thought. He glanced at Jadorra Shadowbane.

As most of the death knights began to dissipate to prepare, Lord-Commander Arete strode up to Danthor and whispered in his ear, "I should hope this plan of yours works, 'cause it's all we got!"

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><p><em>They're out of time!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	72. Hitting the Hidden Hollow

They've been discovered! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>72: Hitting the Hidden Hollow<span>**

It would take near a full hour for them to fully get prepared. After Arete's attack order, the death knights of Death's Rise quickly went to work preparing weapons, gathering supplies, fletching arrows, and prepping the thirty or so undead gryphons that would be needed to fly down to OnslaughtHarbor. The moon was fully out by the time they would be done.

It was forty-five minutes into this prep that the Scarlet Onslaught attacked.

They came riding in on their gryphons—a score of them, at least. Some armed with rifles, polearms, and a few holding strange devices. Danthor was standing near the bonfire, trying to keep warm and wait for the inevitable order for their thirty death knights to attack, when he heard them coming.

_Shit, the bonfire!_ he remembered thinking when he first caught a glimpse of their snow-white gryphons and heard the beating of their wings. _The fire completely gives away our position!_ "Onslaught gryphons incoming!" he also remembered yelling at the top of his lungs.

By the time the knights of the Ebon Blade knew what was going on, it was too late. The humans struck first; some firing their rifles before swooping away to get another shot, and some riding straight into the base, lunging their spears at anyone they came across, their gryphons raking and tearing as well.

Danthor had just buckled his shield to his arm and drew his longsword when one of the gryphon-riders threw the strange round device he held in his hand. The object was black and fell short, hitting the stone side of Death's Rise. As soon as it struck, fire burst from it and an explosion shook the entire circular plateau. Danthor's instincts kicked in and he immediately dropped to the ground, just as a gryphon-rider with a spear flew over him.

"Archers, crossbowmen!" the knight heard Arete yell from somewhere. "Form up and fire! Everyone else get to a gryphon and repel them, gods damn it!"

Another miniature bomb (_An idea by Westwind and his engineers, no doubt,_ Danthor thought) flew down and landed on top of Uzo Deathcaller's tent, setting it alight and sending pieces of masonry flying to hit a few hapless men. Danthor got to his feet just as another gryphon-rider with a spear flew towards him, intent on skewering him. Danthor raised his shield up immediately to deflect the blow and threw his sword forward as the gryphon flew by. The attack took the gryphon in its haunch, and the beast roared in pain, bucking the rider. That combined with the jarring effect of Danthor's deflection sent the Onslaught rider flying off the gryphon . . . right into the cliff-face.

Danthor rushed over to where the gryphons were being prepared and leapt on the first one he saw. It wasn't the one he was given by Uzo, but it would have to do. The creature probably wasn't comfortable with a stranger on its back, but its fear of the explosions and gunshots made it none too choosy. It took to the sky when Danthor dug his greaves into its side, and he joined a few other death knights already in the aerial fight.

He buckled his shield onto his back and held the reins with his left hand while gripping his longsword tightly in his right. He flew face-to-face with a rider who had a rifle, swooping back towards Death's Rise in hopes of getting another shot. He noticed Danthor too late, and the two met at the middle, their gryphons colliding into each other in a flurry of shrieks and feathers. Danthor planned on giving the rider one clean cut, but the collision sent him jarring in his seat as he struggled to hold on. It was only by chance that his sword-arm fell down and slashed the rider across the face. He went limp and fell off the gryphon almost immediately.

The two gryphons went at it for a time, but the Onslaught gryphon had nothing to attack save for hardened bone, while Danthor's beast pecked at flesh and feathers alike. With a well-placed stab by the knight, the gryphon soon went down as well.

And another explosion rattled Death's Rise.

"Fuckin' hell," Danthor swore under his breath as he saw another Onslaught gryphon barreling towards him from the side.

Danthor managed to rein his undead gryphon around in time and sent him flying to meet the challenge. This time they met side-by-side, and the rider tried to drive his spear into Danthor's throat. He managed to knock it away with his longsword before both wheeled around and went in for another pass. This time, Danthor took the initiative and slid his blade across the rider's unprotected throat. Blood sprayed as he slumped over in his saddle, his gryphon flying away in a panic.

More and more death knights were taking to the sky, and soon their numbers began to show. The Onslaught riders were outnumbered two-to-one when Danthor met his final foe in the air. He held a bomb, but Danthor managed to lop off his hand and send the device exploding near the water. The rider screamed as blood sprayed from his stump, but Danthor managed the stab the gryphon in its side and send both it and its master falling into the water below.

Danthor looked down for a brief second as the icy wind blew through his hair. Down hundreds of feet below, the water turned red as the corpses of riders and gryphons alike floated at the top. In the distance, a group of sharks was swimming towards them to enjoy a veritable feast . . .

By the time Danthor flew back to Death's Rise, he saw what a sorry state it was in. Black char peppered the floor, as well as jagged holes and bits of masonry. The bonfire had been put out, but at least three small fires were still burning in its place. As Danthor reined his gryphon in and dismounted, he could still hear Lord-Commander Arete shouting orders.

"I want a total count of how many we've killed and how many we've lost!" he said to Aurochs Grimbane, who nodded and trotted off on his deathcharger.

The total count ended up being the loss of twelve death knights, seven of which were preparing to go into battle that night. Ten were wounded, though only three were serious. When Danthor approached the lord-commander, he made it clear that didn't mean they would stop the attack.

"No way in hell am I letting something like this stop us," he told the knight. "I've already ordered everyone to get healed up and prepared. We leave within the hour!"

Danthor couldn't help but grin. Here was a leader who did what needed to be done! "Very good. At least Westwind won't expect an attack so soon."

"My thoughts exactly. Oh, that reminds me . . ." He rummaged through his satchel and produced a gray circular device with a few runes engraved around the edge, with a small button in the middle. "Take this to use against him inside the hidden hollow after he puts the sphere up. It should nullify the magic completely."

Danthor took it with a perplexed look. "You're not keeping it yourself?"

"Me?" Arete laughed. "No, I could produce such magic on my own. I do expect, though, that your thirst for revenge will get you to fight him—regardless of whether I'm there or not. Thus, I'm giving it to you."

"Thanks."

Arete turned around and began walking away to deal with some of the damage control. "Don't mention it. Just be ready when we move out."

— — —

_The attack did make him cocky,_ Danthor thought when he saw the hidden hollow from his gryphon (his own, this time—thank the Light). _Westwind thinks we're too injured to attack him so soon. That'll be his undoing._

In truth, they weren't at full fighting capacity. They only had twenty-three knights of the Ebon Blade (not including Arete, Aurochs, Uzo, Setaal, and Danthor), twenty-eight fighters in total. Twenty-eight against whatever force Westwind has amassed at the hidden hollow.

The cave was attached to a small stretch of sandy beach situated just behind the Crimson Cathedral, as far west as the West Isle went. When the dwarf spy was stabilized, he was able to point out where the hidden hollow was on a map, so Arete led the group right towards it on their undead gryphons. Danthor had his longsword, shield, the magic-nullifying device, and little else. To his right and left were Jayde and Munch, and right in front of him was Jadorra.

There were a few camps situated on the shoreline that probably held twenty-five defenders or so. It was late at night and their campfires were burning, and the Onslaught guards wouldn't be expecting an attack from the air . . . much like how they weren't expecting an attack from their gryphon-riders.

When they were close enough for attack, Arete drew his greatsword and roared, _"WE FIGHT FOR REVENGE, WE KILL TO QUENCH OUR THIRST! THESE ONSLAUGHT ANTS ARE LESS THAN DIRT TO US, SO LET'S SHOW THEM THAT WE PLAY FOR KEEPS!"_

The death knights, including Danthor, cheered and drew their weapons. The lord-commander was the first to strike, decapitating a scout before his gryphon grabbed a footman by his shoulders and lifted him high into the air, dropping him for the sharks when they were high enough. The twenty-seven others swept in like death as well, hacking and slashing at the confused crusaders who were busy either trying to arm themselves or raise an alarm.

Danthor got a good hack at a paladin before he wheeled his gryphon up and went down for another pass. When he was close enough to the ground this time, he jumped off his gryphon and hit the sand with a roll. Many other death knights were doing the same. Aurochs landed on his feet and cleaved an infantryman in half with his two-handed axe. A few Onslaught crusaders managed to put up a fight, but most fell at the tips of their runeblades. Danthor himself only managed to kill one on the ground before the area was secure.

"I want everyone in formation, now!" Arete bellowed when it was clear the last crusader was dead. They'd only lost one death knight in the strike, so things would proceed as planned.

Danthor, Munch, Jadorra, and Jayde took their positions up near the side of the cave mouth. Like Danthor predicted, it was pretty small, and he could hear a flurry of sounds inside the cave. When the death knights were waiting on both sides of the cave (eleven on one side, ten on Danthor's side), Arete, Aurochs, Setaal, and Uzo casually strode near the mouth. Each was gripping an Onslaught crusaders' head.

"Westwind, you coward!" Arete yelled. "Death has finally come to claim you! Come out, and meet the fate that will befall the rest of your men!"

On cue, all four death knights threw the severed heads into the cave. One bounced off the inside wall before landing inside the darkness with a dull thud. _And now we wait,_ Danthor thought, remembering the fear he felt when they first tried this at Garren's Haunt. _Gods, I was a different man back then. What has the Crusade made me become?_

After a few minutes, they heard footsteps echoing through the cave. Danthor glanced at Arete, standing there with his greatsword raised, waiting for the signal. _Wait for it . . ._ the signal seemed to say. _Wait . . . wait . . . wait . . ._

Danthor looked at Jadorra, who was behind him, and said, "Trust each other, right?"

She smiled and nodded. "Trust each other . . . yes."

_Hold . . . hold . . ._ Arete's signal kept saying. Then his greatsword fell down in one swoop. _NOW!_

_"FOR THE LIGHT!"_ Danthor cried as he, and the twenty other knights of the Ebon Blade rushed into the cave mouth to meet the tightly packed Onslaught crusaders.

Danthor could see the surprise and fear on the Onslaught footman's face when he cut him down. Inside such a small cave mouth, those who were prepared had the definite advantage over those who were surprised to see twenty-one armed and screaming men and women of all races coming at them.

Danthor took a few cuts as he bulled his way through, but it was the Scarlet Onslaught that suffered the real casualties. There must've been at least thirty of them coming through to attack, and every one of them was killed. Danthor saw a few death knights go down, but the ratio was exceptional. Arete and his officers followed in the rear, urging them on.

Then they broke through the narrow opening and out into the wide cavern. Standing there, at the ready, were fifteen shadowed raven priests wearing occultist robes with a mask and hood that completely covered their faces. _No, they're not raven priests,_ Danthor though when he saw a few death knight spies suspended by shadow magic over a few rocky spires that cropped out of the ground. _They're warlocks, and they're performing dark magic here . . ._

Near the back of the spacious room was a natural ramp formation that led up to a second level, with a path that led deeper into the cave. Standing over the warlocks was none other than Grand Admiral Barean Westwind himself, and he was smiling down at the group that had stopped abruptly.

"How ever did you find me?" he asked with a mocking tone. "Did Landgren tell?"

Arete pushed his way to the front and pointed his greatsword at Westwind. "Your time has come! Face us and meet death, coward!"

Westwind looked to consider it for a moment, before saying, "Hmmm . . . no, I don't think I'm gonna do that. Instead, I think I'll have my warlocks eradicate you!"

As if on cue, the fifteen warlocks released a dark ball of magic—that formed the shape of a laughing skull—to the group at the same time. Most on the frontline ducked, Danthor, Jadorra, and Arete included. Still, with no place to go, their spell hit a good amount of death knights, felling at least five with a single blow.

"Charge!" Arete roared, getting to his feet and running forward.

The death knights gave a rallying cheer and rushed forward. The warlocks released another volley, and this time Danthor blocked one of the spells with his shield. It stopped the attack, but his entire arm went numb upon impact. He ignored it and rushed forward, cutting down a warlock. Once the knights of the Ebon Blade fell upon them, the fifteen warlocks went down easily.

Westwind didn't seem distressed. He snapped his fingers and said, "Looks like you need more of a challenge."

At least thirty Onslaught crusaders—a sizeable group of warlocks included—emerged from the darkness of the cave and rushed down the path to meet the dwindling group of death knights. Westwind laughed before retreating further into the cave. Arete turned to Setaal and said, "Work your magic!" Without waiting for a response, he led the charge towards the Onslaught.

Setaal grinned and pulled out her dark tincture, pouring it over some of the many Onslaught bodies that lied scattered the floor. Soon ghouls were rising from them all to join in the fray.

Danthor was fighting alongside Arete when they heard a battle cry coming in from behind them. When Danthor looked, he saw more Onslaught members gathering near the entrance of the hidden hollow. Apparently Westwind had alerted them. "Oh for the love of the Light . . ." Danthor muttered.

That sight was enough for Arete to turn to Danthor. "Go find Westwind and take care of him. We'll deal with them here."

Danthor only nodded before he cut a path for himself and rushed to meet the fleeing Westwind. He heard a few death knights yelling, "Wait!" behind him, but the knight didn't turn around, focusing only on the path in front of him . . .

When Danthor and a few other death knights that followed him were gone, Arete looked past Aurochs (who was holding off the Onslaught admirably), down to the first level of the cave, and yelled, "Setaal, Uzo, deal with the crusaders gathering outside!"

Setaal Darkmender and Uzo Deathcaller grinned and raised up their runed weapons. Uzo pointed his runed spear to the gathering Onslaught crusaders outside. "Don'tcha be gettin' in mah way, mon," he said to his companion as an army of ghouls and a few death knights formed up behind them.

Setaal smiled thinly and raised up her dirk in one hand and her tincture in the other. "I should be saying the same to you. And I'm not a man."

Uzo shrugged, and the two of them rushed outside to meet the Onslaught.

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><p><em>The Onslaught descends!<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	73. Seven versus One

The hunt for Westwind! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>73: Seven versus One<span>**

The path led them deeper than they expected. They must've travelled a good ten minutes, winding through a series of maze-like paths, hot on the heels of Westwind. Breaking off of the path were small nooks that usually housed a single tent and campfire. _Must be where he keeps his guards,_ Danthor thought. He didn't stop to investigate them, though. He was too busy chasing the grand admiral.

"I don't like this, it's like he's leading us into a trap." It was Initiate Roderick who said that. In total, six death knights followed Danthor in his chase for Westwind: Jadorra, Munch, Jayde, Roderick, Initiate Gahark, and Initiate Claget. Being initiates of the Ebon Blade, they wore armor similar to what Danthor saw most death knights wearing back at the Enclave—mailed brown robes that exposed their arms, tabards of the Ebon Blade, and cowls that shadowed their faces. Roderick himself was a male human with a stocky build and gray-colored skin.

_You think I don't know that?_ Danthor thought, opting to say instead, "It can't be helped. Only by killing Westwind will we end the threat of the Scarlet Onslaught." Besides, he was way too close to fulfilling his goal to stop now.

"Regardless, it's seven against one. I like those odds." Initiate Claget was a female Forsaken (like Jadorra), who wore the initiates armor like the other two. The only thing that made her stand out—besides her race—was that her runeblades were a dagger and a dirk, each glowing blue with enchantment.

Initiate Gahark was a male orc who, strangely enough, didn't wear a hood, showing off his milky-white skin, pale blue eyes, and balding white hair fashioned into a ponytail. "Unless the trap involves sending more troops against us," he pointed out.

Jadorra, Jayde, Munch, and Danthor kept silent to that. The Argent crusader was too focused on the slow distance Westwind was gaining. Soon enough, Danthor only saw a shadow of the grand admiral in the distance, reinforced by the sound of his plated greaves clacking against the ground.

After what seemed like an eternity, the clacking sound stopped. Westwind was too far away to see where exactly he was standing, but the seven of them could tell that he had entered the final room of the cave—a circular and shadowed room with a high roof and gray stone walls. The seven of them stopped just at the entrance of the room. In the back they could hear Westwind laughing. "What's the matter? You've finally cornered me. Come and make me pay for what I've done!"

Danthor gripped the black leather hilt of his longsword before looking back at the six death knights behind him. "I have Arete's device that should disarm his shield," he said. "Still, that's no reason to let your guard down. Even without his shield, Westwind is a skilled fighter."

Jadorra drew her runeblade impatiently, saying, "It doesn't matter how skilled he is. Flesh is flesh, and one good hit from my blade should be able to drop him."

Danthor glanced at Jayde and Munch, who just nodded. "Alright," Danthor said, taking a tentative step inside the darkness. "Let's go!"

Their eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light . . . and widened at the sight they were greeted with. Several stone spires protruded from this room as well, but instead of seeing Ebon Blade spies suspended above them and shrouded in darkness, they saw large, winged demons with sharp claws and red eyes. There must've been at least ten of them scattered throughout the room.

In the back of the cave, Westwind stood in front of an altar with his back facing them. From the altar rose red and green lights. "Fascinating, isn't it?" His voice didn't betray any surprise. "My warlocks thought it would only take a few more days before the portals are complete, and the demons would be free."

The seven of them were speechless. Eventually, Danthor found himself asking, "Why?"

"Why?" Barean Westwind turned around, his enchanted rapier giving off a red color. "How else would you suggest we get the power to destroy the Scourge? It's clear the strength of mortals alone will not do. But demons . . . ah, now there's a possibility not even Garrosh Hellscream would consider!"

"You're mad!" Jayde yelled. "There's no way you could control such power!"

Barean held up his index finger and made a _tsk_ing sound. "I can, but that's a trade secret."

Danthor found himself moving towards Westwind without thinking, his shield and longsword at the ready. The six knights of the Ebon Blade quickly followed, all their runeblades drawn. "We won't let you!" Danthor yelled right before he swung his blade at Westwind's neck.

The grand admiral ducked and thrust his rapier at Danthor's chest, who managed to knock the blade away with his shield. That didn't stop Westwind's assault, however, as before Danthor could even react, the grand admiral kicked him in the chest, ripping his tabard and winding him. Danthor staggered back as Jayde and Munch moved in on both sides of Westwind, their runeblades at the ready.

Westwind parried Jayde's attack and side-stepped Munch's, responding by punching the orc in the face with a gauntleted fist. Blood sprayed from Munch's broken nose as he instinctively gripped his face, cursing. Jayde took a step back and swung her blade again, this time trying to cleave the man in half. Westwind leapt back and managed to get away with only a small cut to his Onslaught tabard. In return, however, he sliced Jayde's left arm open with his rapier before kicking at her feet and forcing her to lose her balance. The blood elf let out a small yelp before hitting the hard ground face-first.

Grand Admiral Westwind stepped away from the altar to get more into the fray. Danthor had recovered by now and tried again with a roar, bringing his longsword down towards Westwind's head. Westwind raised his rapier up horizontally and placed his left forearm behind the tip of the blade, adding enough weight to push Danthor's own longsword back and make the knight step backwards uneasily in an attempt to regain his balance.

Westwind went for a low-kick, but Danthor blocked it with his shield. Before he could move in, though, Initiates Gahark and Claget moved in simultaneously. Gahark stood in front of Westwind while Claget stood behind him. Gahark went for a sideways swipe with his two-handed axe, which Westwind parried with his rapier while in tandem kicking the orc in the chest, sending him stumbling back. At the same time, Claget thrust her dirk at the grand admiral's back. Without even looking, Westwind caught her by the arm before her blade could find his back. With one fluid move, he wrenched Claget's arm up and broke it, causing her to scream and drop the dirk.

Westwind stopped her screaming when he wrenched around and shoved his rapier through Claget's throat. She let out a small bubbling noise before collapsing. Westwind managed to pick her dirk up with his left hand just as Gahark came bounding back with his axe raised high. Westwind knocked his weapon out of the way, leaving Gahark completely defenseless. Quick as lighting, he shoved Claget's dirk through Gahark's right eye. The orc gave out a few short breaths before his axe fell from his nerveless hands and he fell to on his back with the blade still buried in his eye.

Westwind laughed. "How disappointing."

That was when Jadorra came rushing forward, the spell Death Coil summoned in her left hand. Before Westwind could react, she loosed the dark magic that hit him square in the chest. He let out a pained grunt, but managed to keep his ground . . . until Jadorra's runeblade—glowing green—came crashing down against his shoulder. The blade buried itself in there and sent blood spraying as Westwind cried in pain. With a grunt, Jadorra wrenched her runeblade free and clouted Westwind across the side of his face with her fist that had surrounded itself with the spell Icy Touch.

Westwind stumbled to his side, gripping the side of his face. That gave the remaining five a few seconds to regroup and catch a quick breath. Westwind spat out a tooth and glared at them. "Two dead for one tooth. Sounds like a fair trade, don't you think?"

"This isn't working," Munch said gruffly. "We need a plan."

Danthor nodded. "Jayde, Munch, you two strike from the left. Roderick, Jadorra, you take the right. I'll go in first down the middle to distract him. That'll distract him enough for one of you to get a clear shot." _And hopefully stop me from getting killed._

He didn't wait for a response.

Danthor took a step forward and said, "I don't know if you remember me, Westwind, but I used to serve the Scarlet Onslaught under you. Then you betrayed me and killed the woman I love."

Westwind smiled disarmingly. "I may recall such an instance."

"Well I sure as hell will never forget it!" Danthor pointed his longsword at the grand admiral. "And now you'll pay for your treachery!" He rushed forward.

The knight struck first, his blade cutting through the air to get to Westwind. He dodged the first strike and responded by throwing a fist at Danthor, who blocked it with his shield and went to strike again, this time thrusting his sword at Westwind's chest. The grand admiral knocked his blade away with his rapier before launching his head forward and butting it against Danthor's. He gave an involuntary cry and closed his eyes in pain for a split second . . .

. . . and opened them to see Westwind's blade coming straight for his heart. He managed to side-step the blow just in time, but his rapier still went through his left shoulder. As Westwind pulled his enchanted blade out, blood began to spray out and soak his Argent Crusade tabard, but Danthor didn't care. At that point the four death knights were falling in at the same time.

Roderick struck first, his runeblade trying to sever Westwind's spine in one blow. The grand admiral took a step forward, allowing Roderick's blade to only cut his red cloak in half and sending it flutter in the wind. Fortunately, right after Roderick's strike, Munch went in with his axe and hit Westwind right in his thigh. Blood dripped down to stain his greaves, but Westwind forced back a cry of pain and send his fist smashing against Munch's chest. The orc grunted and stepped back, his axe unburying itself out of Westwind's leg.

Munch's blow sent the grand admiral onto one knee, but he still managed to parry Jadorra's runeblade. That didn't stop the Forsaken, however, as she used the spell Strangulate to have dark magic seize upon Westwind's throat. He held his free hand up to his neck in vain as he made unintentional gagging sounds, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. That's when Jayde's runeblade came crashing down to end it.

But the blade bounced against a translucent yellow protective sphere that Westwind summoned around himself. The sphere also seemed to dispel Jadorra's strangling spell, as he let out a few harsh breaths before managing to stagger to both of his feet. "You thought I would just let you kill me?" he asked through ragged breaths.

The four death knights cautiously moved away, knowing there was nothing they could do. There was something Danthor could do, though. Wincing in pain at his shoulder wound as his left arm rummaged through his satchel, he managed to find Arete's magic-nullifying device and held it straight out at Westwind.

"No, we didn't," the knight said, taking a few steps forward to be within striking distance. "That's why we came prepared!"

He pushed the small button at the center of the device, and dark magic flew out in a shaky line (like the spell Mind Fray) to strike Westwind's protective bubble, dispelling it almost immediately. Westwind looked at Danthor incredulously. _"WHAT?!"_

Danthor only responded by swinging his longsword at Westwind in a downward strike. Despite his initial surprise, Westwind responded in turn, swinging his rapier upwards. Both blades struck at the same time . . . to the same effect. Danthor and Westwind's chests opened up as the blades struck them in a diagonal motion, sending blood spraying and tabards flying. Both men took a few steps back before collapsing . . .

Danthor didn't know how long he stayed on the ground, but eventually he was hauled up by Roderick and Jadorra. His back was to Westwind as he looked at the Forsaken. She smiled and said, "I didn't think Arete's device would work, but I'm glad I was wrong. Congratulations."

Danthor looked down at his chest wound and immediately looked away for fear of retching. "Hopefully I'll live to enjoy my victory . . ."

"Don't worry. We'll get someone to look at it when we get back to Death's Rise. I don't think it's deep enough to cause any real—"

She stopped midsentence, her mouth widening into a surprised O. That was followed by Danthor hearing Roderick cry out in pain. Danthor began to turn his head to look over his right shoulder when he saw Roderick standing there with Westwind's rapier through his chest. He collapsed wordlessly as he wrenched it out.

Danthor's head was half turned when Westwind's blade flashed across his right eye.

The tip of his rapier started at the bridge of Danthor's nose and made its way across his right cheekbone, just a hair under his eye, and chopped off the top quarter of his right ear. _"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGH !"_

Danthor dropped his longsword and collapsed on the ground, reeling and crying in pain and attempting to cover his bleeding face. "Danthor!" Jadorra yelled.

"No matter," the three death knights heard Westwind say. He looked almost like a corpse, with tangled gray hair, his armor covered in blood, and pale dead eyes. "Even without my sphere, I will crush you." His eyes suddenly glowed red. "Behold my true identity and despair!"

For the briefest of seconds, the grand admiral's body glowed bright red, and then his flesh exploded in a brilliant light. And Barean Westwind was no more.

What stood in his place was a dreadlord, with waxy purple skin, black horns, bat-like wings, sharpened teeth and claws, red eyes, cloven hooves, and red otherworldly armor. Danthor was still reeling on the ground in pain when this happened, but he managed to catch a glimpse at the dreadlord and said, "A demon . . ."

The dreadlord scoffed. His voice was deep and reverberant. "Not just any demon. I am the dreaded nathrezim Mal'Ganis! And now you will truly feel my wrath!"

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><p><em>The situation seems hopeless . . .<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	74. Reason for Revenge

The truth revealed! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p><strong><span>74: Reason for Revenge<span>**

Danthor saw little of what happened through his bloodshot eyes. He was mostly focused on the blinding pain on the right half of his face. Still, with his left eye he _did_ see Grand Admiral Westwind transform into . . . something hulking and horrible, with wings, hooves, and terrible, terrible red eyes. _Those eyes mean death,_ his mind thought

_("red eyes . . . destroyer . . . Tirisfal")_

though he was too busy taking in pained breath and reeling on the floor to actually say anything. Instead, he heard Jadorra stammer, "B . . . Balnazzar?! It can't be, you're dead! I killed you!"

The dreadlord regarded Jadorra with nothing less than contempt. "I should take insult for such a comparison. I'm little more than an acquaintance with that fool. I told you, I'm Mal'Ganis." He sighed. "Though I suppose the confusion is understandable. He did try something similar to the Scarlet Crusade in the past."

_Grand Crusader Dathrohan,_ the reeling knight thought immediately. Jadorra had already told him about Dathrohan's secret, back when she killed him at Stratholme, but there was a bit of information she never managed to get out. _By the Light, has there ever been a time where the Scarlet leadership wasn't completely corrupted?_

"Balnazzar should be thanking me, though," Mal'Ganis said. "After all, I was the one who led to the Culling of Stratholme in the first place, which made for a more-than-adequate base for him. Ahhh, thinking of such memories with the young prince fills me simultaneously with joy and anger."

By the "young prince," Mal'Ganis was referring to Arthas Menethil—the Lich King, Danthor knew. Arthas's dark path of the damned began when Mal'Ganis—working with the Lich King's spirit, Ner'Zhul—had plagued the human city of Stratholme, and convinced Arthas that the only way to save them was to burn the city to the ground. Prince Menethil never forgave the dreadlord for that, and followed him all the way to Northrend. _All the way to the Frostmourne Cavern, where Arthas saw no choice but to draw that cursed runeblade and be bound to the Lich King's essence for all time._

After that . . . well, no one really knew what happened to Mal'Ganis. Danthor had read about the Lich King and Arthas extensively (_"Know your enemy,"_ he always used to say when asked about it), and had just assumed that the dreadlord went back to his homeworld after Arthas became the world's strongest death knight. Then why was he here?

He was still in too much pain to ask, and it looked like Mal'Ganis tired of talking anyways. The dreadlord rushed forward, his cloven hooves shaking the ground with every stride, cocking his clawed hand back for an attack. He was on Jadorra faster than she could dodge, so she had to raise her runeblade up to parry his attack, creating a momentary standstill.

"That human," Mal'Ganis said, motioning at Danthor, "he looks to be at the end of his rope. Allow me to put him out of his misery."

"Not on your life!" Jadorra shot back.

"What a pity." Mal'Ganis put a bit more power behind his arms to push Jadorra back, forcing her to the ground. The dreadlord turned to Danthor and said, "Does seeing my true identity help answer some questions for you?"

_No_, he thought. _In fact, it raises even more._

Mal'Ganis didn't wait for a response, and raised his muscular leg up, intent on using his hoof to crush Danthor's head into bloody pulp. That's when Jayde and Munch moved in simultaneously. Jayde slashed Mal'Ganis across his raised leg, while Munch struck him in the ribs with his axe. Both attacks made light cuts and caused the dreadlord to step back. Purple blood oozed from his new wounds.

"It would appear I forgot about you two." Mal'Ganis's voice showed no anger, pain, or fear.

Munch spat on the ground. He was standing near a spire that held an incomplete portal. If completed, hundreds of demons would spill out and overwhelm all of Azeroth. "Only a fool forgets and underestimates us!"

"Make that mistake again, and it will mean your head," Jayde said.

Mal'Ganis held up one of his large hands and summoned a dark-colored spell—Mind Blast, as it were. "I'll keep that in mind."

He threw the blast at Munch, who leapt out of the way as Jayde rushed forward, her runeblade glowing blue. When she was within striking distance, she leapt into the air and swung her sword at Mal'Ganis's chest, yelling, "Frost Strike!"

The dreadlord casually raised his forearm up and stopped the runeblade dead in its tracks. The strike managed to knick his arm, and a small amount of frost appeared around the wound, but otherwise Mal'Ganis seemed uninterested. "Pitiful."

He launched his free fist at the exposed Jayde, raking her across her chest and sending blood spurting out. She dropped to the ground crying in pain. Mal'Ganis raised his hoof and sent it crashing down, intent on breaking her back. Luckily, Jayde rolled out of the way, leaving Mal'Ganis to break only the ground beneath him. When the blood elf stopped rolling, she held out her hand, which glowed blue with frost. "Chains of Ice!"

The ground beneath Mal'Ganis suddenly turned to snow, and from it burst four pillars that shot chains out, binding the dreadlord. "What?!" he managed to say.

"Get him, Munch!" Jayde yelled. "He's wide open!"

The orc didn't need to be told twice. Before Mal'Ganis knew what was happening, Munch was on him, his battleaxe glowing red—the color of blood. He came up on Mal'Ganis's back, his axe raised high as he leapt to strike. "Blood Strike!"

His axe sunk into Mal'Ganis's shoulder, actually causing him to grunt in pain. A second after the strike, however, and Mal'Ganis's wings moved, buffeting Munch and sending him flying backwards onto his back. "Anach kyree!" Mal'Ganis yelled in his own demonic tongue.

With a tremendous burst of strength, the ice binding Mal'Ganis shattered. The spell disappeared in about four seconds . . . just enough time for Jadorra to come rushing forward with her runeblade at the ready. Her runeblade glowed green—the color of disease. "Plague Strike!"

Her attack struck Mal'Ganis's stomach and left a green residue after her runeblade left his skin. The dreadlord gripped his new wound before bringing his arm towards her in a swinging backhand, striking her side and sending her flying against the gray stone wall. "Gah!" he said in frustration. "I spent too much time in that weak little shell!"

"So you were the one that destroyed the Scarlet fleet to possess Westwind, huh?"

Mal'Ganis turned to see Danthor Kurock standing, his shield and longsword at his side. Blood streamed from his chest and face, but he was standing nonetheless. The dreadlord noticed he was a bit wobbly, however.

"Not quite," Mal'Ganis replied. "The storm did the work for me. I just happened upon Westwind's body floating on some driftwood, and decided to take advantage of the situation."

_Saved by the Light, my ass,_ Danthor thought, remembering the first time he saw Westwind at New Hearthglen. _This one's a master manipulator._ "After everything you've done, all the people you've deceived and used, I can't let you get away with this."

"I didn't expect you to." Mal'Ganis motioned for Danthor to make the first move. "You humans petty drive for revenge always makes you entertaining to watch. But I should know, revenge seldom works out the way it's planned."

Danthor took a few uneasy steps at first, and began to pick up the pace when he saw that he wasn't going to collapse on the spot. He raised his shield and longsword in a battle stance, just like he'd been trained at the Scarlet Monastery so, so long ago. _"FOR THE LIGHT!"_ he found himself bellowing as he took the first swing.

His blade came crashing down, intent on slicing Mal'Ganis's chest open. The dreadlord sidestepped the strike, however, and responded by swinging his fist at Danthor's head. _He's trying to behead me with one strike!_ Danthor thought in a panic. He raised his shield up just in time, but his powerful fist made a loud ringing noise and set a huge dent inwards. _One blow and my entire arm goes numb._

Danthor kept his stance, yet was pushed back, his feet making a scraping sound. And before he knew it, he was behind one of the rocky spires, cornered. Mal'Ganis didn't waste any time squandering this advantage, and went in for another decapitation attack. Danthor ducked in time, and Mal'Ganis instead struck the spire right at its center, taking out its middle and sending rocks flying.

"NO!" Mal'Ganis roared as he saw the shadowed portal above disappear.

Danthor took this distraction to rush forward and stab the dreadlord in his stomach. His longsword managed to pierce his naturally-hardened purple skin and sink about halfway in. Mal'Ganis's arms immediately shot around Danthor and held him in a death grip, raising him up in the air so that he was face-to-face with him.

The knight looked at Mal'Ganis with his bloodshot eyes and managed an amiable smile. "Hello there." His entire body was shaking, however.

"Your time has come to an end," Mal'Ganis said, his usually calm and deep voice giving way to a more angry tone. He opened his mouth, revealing his fangs . . .

. . . and closed them again as Jadorra came rushing forward, slashing Mal'Ganis's right arm deeply with her runeblade. By reaction, the dreadlord dropped Danthor, where he landed on his feet and immediately collapsed under the weight, letting out a pained gasp. Mal'Ganis moved to strike Jadorra, but Munch came rushing forward and launched a dark spell, yelling, "Death Coil!"

The spell hit Mal'Ganis right in his back, but before he could even turn around, Jayde was coming towards him and jammed her runeblade through his exposed calf. Jadorra took that time to drag Danthor's pained body away from Mal'Ganis as he dropped to one knee, cursing in his native language of Eredun.

When all four of them had gotten a safe distance away from Mal'Ganis, he rose to his feet, his breathing heavy. Danthor's longsword was still in his stomach, and the dreadlord quickly pulled it out and flung it away. Danthor made careful note of where it landed, making a clattering sound as it struck the stone floor.

"He's slowly getting worn down," Munch observed.

"We'll have to keep that pace up," Jadorra said.

Apparently, Mal'Ganis heard them. "You mortals get too cocky! You're just like prince Arthas! My master Kil'Jaeden created the original Lich King, and charged me to follow its every order. I did as it asked, luring Arthas to that damned blade Frostmourne. And the second he surrenders his soul to Ner'Zhul, the prince is ordered to kill me! But it's no so easy to kill a nathrezim, and I survived!"

"He's losing it," Danthor said. "He actually feels threatened by us."

Mal'Ganis motioned to the numerous shadowed portals all around the cavern. "So from then on I swore revenge. I possessed Westwind's corpse and bent an entire organization to my command! Once the portals are complete, my army will be ready. My Onslaught will wash over the Lich King's forces!"

Danthor managed a smile and took a step forward, doing his best to stifle a grunt of pain. "You said it yourself. Revenge seldom works out the way it's planned."

_"Kirel narak! I am Mal'Ganis! I AM ETERNAL!"_

The dreadlord came bounding after the four of them. "Hold him off for a second!" Danthor yelled before rushing away to find where his longsword lay.

Mal'Ganis didn't seem to pay him any mind, and focused on the three death knights in front of him. He held out his right hand, and a group of what appeared to be locust appeared around his hand. He threw it straight at them, yelling, "Carrion Swarm!"

The spell flew towards the three, and before they knew it they were swarmed by locusts, buzzing and biting at every inch of exposed skin. Mal'Ganis had chosen his target: Munch. He cocked his fist back as it began to glow black. He struck the orc dead in the chest, and shadows immediately enveloped him. Munch gave a little cry of pain as it looked like the very essence of him was being sucked out by the dreadlord's Vampiric Touch.

If the siphoning continued, no doubt Munch would have died, but Jadorra and Jayde moved in at the same time, forcing Mal'Ganis to take a step back and discontinue the spell. Jayde struck first, her blade becoming blue with frost, but Mal'Ganis knocked her blade away . . . leaving him wide open for Jadorra's attack. The ground underneath the dreadlord began to turn green with pestilence, and it was all Mal'Ganis could do to yelp and leap to safe ground.

That was when Mal'Ganis began to feel his internal body temperature heat up. It rose, and rose, and rose, until it got to be unbearable. That's when he noticed Munch casting a blood spell—Blood Boil, it was called. He let out a demonic roar and threw a Mind Blast at the orc. He tried to move out of the way, but it clipped his shoulder and sent him on his back. Mal'Ganis felt his body temperature quickly return to normal.

Mal'Ganis turned to face either Jadorra or Jayde, but was surprised to see them slowly back away. Before he could question it, he felt a sharp pain in his right wing. He turned his head to see that a significant part of the wing had been sheared in two by Danthor, who was already moving again with his longsword in hand, going for the left wing now.

"You get AWAY!" Mal'Ganis roared, turning around and swinging his claws upward.

Danthor raised his shield to block it, but the strike had so much momentum and power behind it that the aegis got dislodged and sent flying through the dark. The dreadlord didn't miss a beat and sent his other fist flying at Danthor, intent on shredding him in half. Danthor, surprisingly, stepped forward and thrust his longsword straight at Mal'Ganis, letting loose an animal-like battle cry to match his demonic one.

Danthor proved to be faster, and his longsword pierced Mal'Ganis in his chest, right near his heart. The attack made the dreadlord lose all his momentum from shock and pain, and his arm went limp instead of following through and killing the knight.

"My name is Danthor Kurock," he said, shoving his longsword in a little deeper. "I served under you in the Scarlet Onslaught, and you killed the woman I love, Lethella Borman. May the Light judge you as harshly as possible!"

He wrenched his longsword out, and Mal'Ganis gripped his chest and collapsed face-first. Danthor let out a shaky sigh and saw Jadorra, Munch, and Jayde rushing towards him. With a grin, he stumbled towards them, feeling the collective pain of all his wounds with every step. It was his face that hurt the most. _Don't suppose I'll ever find the top of my ear in here,_ he thought. _Oh well, such is life . . ._

He fell into their arms and heard their cheers. "You gave that bastard what he deserved," Munch said in his usual gruff tone.

Jayde smiled maliciously at the knight. "And you go and steal all the glory for yourself."

Danthor nodded and looked at Jadorra Shadowbane. He was most interested in all in what she had to say. She smiled, nodded, and said, "You fought well. Good job."

Danthor nodded and closed his eyes . . .

"ENOUGH!" he heard a voice thunder behind him. His eyes shot open. He recognized it immediately. "I waste my time here!"

Danthor turned around to see Mal'Ganis on his feet, shambling away towards the altar near the back of the room. When he was there, he chanted some words in Eredun, and a large, black portal appeared in front of him. What's more is that as that portal appeared, all the other shadowed incomplete portals around the room began to fade and disappear.

"He's using all the dark magic in the room to make a portal for himself," Jadorra said.

"I must gather my strength on the homeworld . . . in the Twisting Nether." He walked closer to the portal, then turned around for a brief second. "You'll never defeat the Lich King without my forces, but I'll have my revenge . . . on him _and_ you!"

Danthor found himself jogging towards Mal'Ganis, despite his rapidly fading strength. He held his left arm out. _"Wait!"_

Mal'Ganis didn't spare him a second glance, as he turned around and walked through the dark portal. As soon as he passed through, it disappeared forever, leaving only the three death knights and one Argent crusader in the cavern.

Danthor's strength gave out about halfway to the altar, and he collapsed.

* * *

><p><em>Now what?<em>

**Please review/favorite; it is greatly appreciated!**


	75. Epilogue: The Winds of Northrend

In the aftermath . . . Enjoy the final chapter!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own (_World of_) _Warcraf__t_. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

* * *

><p>The king is gone, but he's not forgotten<br>—Neil Young

—

**75: Epilogue – The Winds of Northrend**

"MAL'GANIS?!" Lord-Commander Arete suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. "The fools were taken in by demons yet again, and now they are destroyed!"

_You don't have to sound so happy about it . . ._ Then Danthor remembered who he was talking to—hell, who he was _surrounded_ by. _I've spent too much time around death knights and undead. _

They were standing in the Crimson Cathedral, though it didn't look as magnificent as the last time. Windows and pews were smashed, the carpet was in tatters, the altar was all but destroyed, and the white walls were smeared with blood. Setaal Darkmender's ghouls and a few death knights had cleared most of the bodies out, though, and for that Danthor was grateful.

While Jadorra, Munch, Jayde, and Danthor were busy fighting Grand Admiral Westwind—who revealed himself to be the dreadlord Mal'Ganis—Arete, Aurochs, Uzo, and Setaal were busy fighting off the rest of the Scarlet Onslaught. Setaal used her tincture to turn the Onslaught's dead into ghouls, and slowly the tide of battle turned. When the four of them emerged from the hidden hollow (with Munch and Jayde helping Danthor walk) after their fight with Mal'Ganis, they found nothing but bodies and ruin covering the entire Onslaught Harbor.

"I figured that since they went to such lengths to destroy Death's Rise, we'd take this harbor as our new base," Arete had told them when they first entered the cathedral. He was lazily sitting on the remains of the altar near the back. "It's much more spacious, don't you think?"

"I'd prefer if you burned it all," Danthor had said, "but it's not like you'll take into account a normal human warrior's opinion."

After Mal'Ganis disappeared, the "normal human warrior" could barely stand. When Munch, Jayde, and Jadorra went to help Danthor up from the floor where he had collapsed, they found him ranting and raving about stopping the "red-eyed destroyer." After he was helped to his feet and given a few minutes to rest, Danthor slowly returned to his normal self, though his wounds were still grievous.

"I'll take it into consideration," Arete said, "but this doesn't seem like too bad a place to make a major Ebon Blade stronghold. Plus, with the Shadow Vault so close, we can catch the vrykul city of Jotunheim in a pincer move."

_Do what you want,_ Danthor wanted to say, but was suddenly caught in a dizziness spell and lurched forward uneasily. Jadorra managed to grab hold of him before he outright collapsed.

Arete studied his wounds. "You need some serious medical attention."

Danthor touched the scarred flesh on his face tentatively, and winced after the briefest of contact. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but he'd lost a lot of blood in his fight with Westwind/Mal'Ganis. Serious medical attention, to be sure, though he didn't quite trust the Knights of the Ebon Blade to deliver premium health services. "After," he eventually said. "First, we have to tell you about Westwind . . ."

They told Arete about their fight in the hidden hollow, and how Mal'Ganis had eventually slipped away. The revelation that Barean Westwind was actually a dreadlord (a nathrezim, as Mal'Ganis himself put it) made Arete burst out laughing. "I think celebrations are in order," he said after he finally calmed down. "I'd like to thank you four for your valiant victory."

_And I'd like the top quarter of my ear back,_ Danthor thought, but held his tongue. He'd mentioned the deaths of Gahark, Claget, and Roderick, but Arete dwelled on them only for a second. They were just initiates, after all. _In the end, we're just too different,_ Danthor decided.

"I'd love to," Danthor said, "but I think I should get that medical attention sooner rather than later." It was half true. He wanted to get away from death knights for a while, and be amongst his own kind—the living.

Arete blinked. "Of course. We're in a bit of disarray right now, but I'm sure we can summon someone up to take a look at—"

"Actually, I'd prefer to seek treatment back at Crusaders' Pinnacle." Danthor looked to see the confused faces of Arete, Jayde, Munch, and Jadorra. "It's nothing personal, I'm just eager to get back to the Argent Crusade and report on our victory."

The lord-commander nodded. "Of course. You've certainly earned that. At least let us give you some minor aid to hold you over until you get back."

Danthor nodded. That much was fine.

"I'll escort you back," Jadorra offered.

Danthor shook his head. "I remember the way back, you don't need to trouble yourself. I'll be sure to send the gryphon back when I get there."

Jadorra opened her mouth, about to speak, when Arete put his hand on her shoulder and said, "That's fine." He held his armored hand out. "I can honestly say that it's been a pleasure working with you. If only other Argent crusaders were like you, we'd probably get along better."

Danthor grasped his hand for a shake. "And you as well. Your magic-nullifying device really saved our asses."

"That was its job. Now we should probably get all your wounds checked out . . ."

As expected, Danthor's wounds required the most attention. Aside from Jayde taking a full-on clawing in the chest from Mal'Ganis, Munch and Jadorra got off relatively easy, with only a few minor wounds. Danthor settled for a makeshift bandage being put on the right side of his face and ear. It hurt, but the wound would keep. The same practice was applied to his other wounds (the worst of which being the slash across his chest he took from Westwind's enchanted rapier).

When he was deemed safe for travel, Danthor found himself standing out on the rocky shore of Onslaught Harbor, his undead gryphon loaded and ready to fly. "I can get there in a few hours if I really push it." Morning was already on them.

Jadorra, Munch, and Jayde were gathered to give him his final goodbyes. All three were likely to stay at the newly-renovated Harbor or be shipped off to the Shadow Vault—another Ebon Blade stronghold. There, they would continue in their fight against the Lich King. _The fight that binds us all,_ he realized.

Munch held out his hand, much like Arete. When Danthor shook it, he said, "As a warrior, I respect your skill and spirit. Keep up the good fight, and you'll become a man of legends."

"But I'm sure history won't forget about our good orc friend Munch, either. What, with a name like that."

Munch laughed. Jayde offered him a hug. (Lightly, though, as both of their chests were injured.) "Take care of yourself," she told him. "Don't push yourself too hard, or you'll die. As much as I'd like to see you become a death knight, you're much better as a living human."

"You give yourself too little credit. Beneath that sharp tongue and icy magic hides a caring blood elf."

When Danthor turned to Jadorra, expecting a goodbye, she punched him.

He held his reddened left cheek. _At least she didn't hit my right,_ he thought gratefully. She didn't hit too hard, but it was enough to get his attention. "What was that for?"

"For being such an asshole," she said in an unusually passionate voice. "You're just gonna leave like that? Are you too good for the likes of us now?" She snorted. "Deep down you're still just a Scarlet Crusader, biased as ever!"

Danthor took a step forward and put both his hands on her shoulders. "I won't deny it," he said. "Deep down I'm still prejudiced against all things undead. It's too well-ingrained inside of me."

The faces of Garomaw Grimhand, Lieutenant Sorenson, Rammius, Salanar the Horseman, Baron Rivendare, the Lich King, and yes, even Jadorra Shadowbane herself appeared before him. The same Jadorra who he was holding right now.

"I'm still prejudiced," he continued, "but I'm trying real hard not to be—to set myself right. Serving under Tirion and Darion and helping the Ebon Blade has changed my perception some, but it's hard to forget. Hard to forget all of the undead that have ruined my life."

He had tried to forget by fueling his hatred to Westwind and the Scarlet Onslaught as a whole, which helped him handle the fact that he was serving with death knights, but now that both were gone, he found the old hate and bias coming back. He let Jadorra go.

"Next time you see me, though, I'll be better. And you've helped me come a long way from where I started. For that, I truly thank you."

Jadorra closed her dull blue eyes and shook her head. "You idiot. Get out of here then. Next time don't expect me to be so understanding of your situation."

Danthor smiled and nodded. He got on his gryphon and gave the three death knights who've helped him grow one last look. "Thank you all for everything. Next time I see you, we'll be fighting the Lich King."

He took to the sky.

— — —

Highlord Tirion Fordring entered Danthor's room to find him sitting at the table, reading a book.

"Hey," Tirion said. "I've heard you're—"

"Shh!" Danthor held up a hand for a second. Then moved to close the book with a resounding slam. "Did you know that Kil'Jaeden the Deceiver, active leader of the Burning Legion, created the original Lich King from an orc shaman named Ner'Zhul?"

Tirion nodded, taking a step in and closing the door. "I should hope so. As leader of the major opposition against the Scourge, it wouldn't look too good if I didn't know my enemies."

Danthor leaned back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head. "So in the end, the Lich King was created in another failed attempt for Sargeras to take over all of Azeroth from the Twisting Nether." He grinned crookedly at the paladin. "When you put it like that, this whole thing seems kind of insignificant, huh?"

Tirion instinctively touched the hilt of his blade, Ashbringer. The weapon that gave him his namesake. "I suppose so. But that's not why I'm here . . ."

Danthor had arrived at Crusaders' Pinnacle three weeks ago, just in time to see the final stone of Justice Keep being put into place. There, he received medical attention for his wounds and delivered the good news about the destruction of the Scarlet Onslaught. He'd been actively recovering and helping the Argent Crusade wherever he could since.

Danthor stood up from his chair. He looked to be in fine form today. His chest and shoulder wounds were near recovered, and the wound on his face had healed to show a jagged, silver scar that travelled from the bridge of his nose to his diminished right ear. That had recovered too, and fortunately the cut didn't affect his hearing in the slightest. His hair was brushed back from his forehead, his beard was neat and trimmed, and he dressed every inch the crusader, with silver plate mail, a gray cloak, an Argent Crusade tabard, with his longsword at his side and battle-worn shield on his back.

"Why are you here then?"

"I've heard from both Dalfors and Father Gustav that you plan on leaving us."

Danthor sighed. "Don't worry; I'm not leaving the Argent Crusade. Just Crusaders' Pinnacle."

"I assumed as much. Can you tell me why?"

Danthor shrugged. "Just to get a different change of pace. I've stayed cooped up in here for too long, anyways. It's time for me to get back out there and make a difference in the fight against the Scourge."

"If it's a deployment you're asking for, I can assign you to a number of different places where you would be effective," Tirion said. "I hope you don't feel you've overstayed your welcome."

Danthor shook his head. "Quite the contrary. I'm afraid that if I stay here for too long, I'll get too used to not fighting. Then what good am I to anyone?"

"We could have use of your skills here," Tirion said stubbornly. "I've been thinking about staging a tournament in Icecrown and inviting the leaders of every race. On the surface it would look just like a sport, but in truth it would be a way to get the Horde and Alliance to stop fighting endlessly amongst themselves and focus on the Scourge."

_Fighting really does bring people together._ The thought was so humorous that Danthor couldn't help but laugh out loud. When Tirion looked at him quizzically, he said, "Sorry, it's nothing. A tournament sounds like a great idea. If you ever manage to put it together, let me know and I'll be there. But for now, I feel like I have to go."

"If that's what you wish, I won't stop you," Tirion said.

"It is."

"Then you have my blessing."

"Thanks, but I'd prefer if you'd walk with me to the Vanguard for a bit. I have to say goodbye."

Tirion knew exactly what Danthor was talking about, and happily went along with him on the walk from Crusaders' Pinnacle to the Argent Vanguard. They had managed to clear out all of Scourgeholm and were in the process of purifying the land, so there was no longer any threat on the walk.

It was unusually cold that day. The winds periodically picked up and sent a chill down every living being's spine. Overhead, the clouds looked dark and heavy. Tirion imagined there would be snow tonight.

They entered the Vanguard to see almost no one. The completion of Crusaders' Pinnacle hadn't helped repopulate the Argent Crusade's first base in Icecrown. Danthor moved briskly to Lethella's grave, and Tirion waited near the graveyard entrance as the crusader kneeled and started talking.

"Hey, it's me again. I know it hasn't been too long since I last visited, but this'll be the last time you'll hear from me in a while, I'm sure. After lookin' at me with a face like this, I'll bet you'll be happy to have a break from seeing me." He touched the jagged scar on the right side of his face. "It's just the icing on the cake of all the scars I've accumulated since I began this wild and crazy journey, I suppose. It seems like I joined the Scarlet Crusade so long ago, but whenever I think about you, it makes me feel like I just saw you yesterday, when you were fearless and wanted to destroy all undead."

Danthor paused and looked up at the darkened sky.

"It's a stance that's not _completely_ justified, mind you, but I understand your reasoning. Hell, I'm still struggling with it myself. Still, I feel no remorse when I kill any undead of the Scourge, which is why I'm going away for a little while. You'd probably do the same thing in my place, so I'm sure you'll understand . . ." He stopped, stood up. "For your sake, I won't stop fighting until the Lich King is dead. Goodbye, Lethella. I love you."

He gave her headstone one last fleeting look and turned around to face Tirion. "I hope you meant what you said," the Ashbringer said, "because it looks like the Lich King isn't giving up any time soon."

Danthor grinned. "If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't be leaving." He held his gauntleted hand out. "I want to thank you, Tirion. You helped me when I needed it most. I don't know what I'd do without you or the Argent Crusade."

Tirion gripped Danthor's hand and smiled back. "Become a sword for hire, most like." He wasn't wrong. Fighting was all Danthor knew how to do now—without it, he had little. The Argent Crusade had saved him from a fate that could've been much darker. Danthor may have been born a farmer, but he would die a warrior. "I'm glad we stumbled across you, too. Goodbye, Crusader Kurock."

"Goodbye, Highlord Fordring."

Danthor exited the Vanguard, and entered into the vast wasteland of Icecrown. The mark of the Scourge was heavy here, and Danthor meant to help lessen their influence any way he could.

As he started his long walk, Danthor pushed his gray cloak up a little closer. The wind was starting to kick up, and it was cold.

So cold . . .

* * *

><p><em>Forward into the harsh lands . . .<em>

**That's it everyone! Over a year of publication and _The Scarlet Story_ is finally finished. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed this story through it all. Without you guys, I wouldn't have been able to make it through to the end!**

**Thanks, and see you later!**


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